


The Reach of My Arms

by bubblebucky



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bad French, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Death March, F/M, Female Steve Rogers, Genderswap, Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt Steve Rogers, Nazis, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:04:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 22,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7778857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubblebucky/pseuds/bubblebucky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes some luck, a super soldier serum, and some serious cash, but Steph gets to Europe. She's not going to let this war take Bucky from her.</p><p>Or, Stephanie Grace Rogers is a good person, not a perfect soldier, and she's going to prove that to the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I made Steve into a girl and left Bucky a guy. I'm not doing this to force het onto anyone, but rather to give myself a girl Steve Rogers, because I want her to be an unstoppable kickass female hero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha finally went back and sorta edited this thing. I changed a bit, so!! Exciting wow

The thing about Steph Rogers was that no matter her age, gender, health, or situation, she hated bullies. So much, in fact, that she was missing out on the movie she was supposed to be seeing with Bucky right about then. He'd forgive her, though, once she told him why she was fighting. He usually did.

"You just don't know when to give up, do you?" This bully was like all of the other ones Steph had ever faced: big, rude, and not afraid to hit a girl after a little pushing.

She wiped at the blood in the corner of her mouth and put up her fists. “I could do this all day.”

The smirk on his face slipped into a frown. He obviously was expecting Steph to give up after the first hit--not even a hard one, if she was honest--but he really didn’t know who he was messing with. If Steph was going down, it was going to be because she couldn’t get back up.

His fists tightened. "You really wanna be fighting me, lamb?"

She clenched her jaw. "That's not my name."

At the first sign of movement, Steph swung out, but the guy intercepted her punch easily and grabbed her wrists with one hand and a fistful of hair with his other. She immediately began to kick and twist, but it was, disappointingly, fruitless, and he shoved her so roughly that her head cracked against the wall when she hit.

“Hey! Pick on someone your own size!”

Of course, Bucky would say something as cheesy as that. Steph wanted to snicker, but all that adrenaline made it a little hard for her weak lungs to work the way they should, and all she could do was struggle for breath as Bucky wrenched the guy away from her and sent him stumbling out of the alley with a kick in the pants.

Being rescued by Bucky was something she was used to, if not pleased with. She supposed she shouldn't complain, since most times his instincts about when Steph was in real trouble were flawless. She only had to struggle to her knees before Bucky was by her side, gently grabbing her elbows and helping the rest of the way up.

“Sometimes I think you like getting punched.” His voice was concern and poorly concealed anger and amusement, all at once. Most noticeably, he wasn’t surprised, but Bucky had stopped being surprised by finding Steph getting beat up behind buildings a week after they met. He knows better than anyone that she can’t just walk away from a situation that’s going downhill. It’s one of her most endearing and infuriating qualities.

Bucky cradled her face, prodding her bloody lip with his thumb, and Steph allowed his fussing for only a moment before she swatted his hands away.

“I had him on the ropes,” she said, a little sullenly. Bucky’s mouth quirked, that same familiar smirk that she loved so much, and, geez, he really did look handsome with his hair all slicked back and stuck under that military cap—“Oh.”

Bucky’s smirk faded into the smile that he always had when he was trying to be strong for Steph. She hated that smile.

“You got your orders.” She wasn’t quite able to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Bucky nodded, his face a mask of pride and cockiness that she knew was all for show. “The 107th. Sergeant James Barnes, shipping for England first thing tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Steph looked away and grabbed her own arms, head bobbing with acknowledgement. Tomorrow, Bucky was going off to war—possibly never to return—and it felt like steel rods were being driven through her heart. It was hard enough having him away at training, where she knew he was safe. Out there, in another country, fighting Nazis…

“Hey,” Bucky threw an arm over her slender shoulders and started to guide them out of the alley. “Come on, doll. It’s my last night! Gotta get you cleaned up.”

“Why?” Steph looked up at him, curious. “Where’re we goin’?”

“The future,” Bucky said, then handed her an ad to the World Exposition.

* * *

 

It's not like she had anything against the World Exposition, but it wouldn't have been her first suggestion as a place to spend their last night together. She would much rather prefer staying at their little apartment--it'd been a while since they were there together, and it would be nice to have him home safe again--but Bucky wanted to go out, so there they were. He'd always been a nerd for this sort of stuff, anyway.

As they walked, the lights of the World Exposition twinkled overhead, showy like nothing else, and tomorrow Bucky would be fighting for the world and his life. And Steph would be here, waiting like a good little lady for him to come back, because she was too much of a woman to fight, and too much of a liability to be a nurse--she would know. They told her each of the five times she tried to sign up.

Steph’s grip tightened around Bucky’s, and he glanced at her a bit worriedly. “You alright? The smoke botherin’ you?”

“Nah, Buck, I’m fine.” She did her best to pull her face into a smile, but by the frown still marring Bucky’s handsome mug, she did a poor job of it.

“We can go home if you want. I can always take you back when I get back.”

Steph wanted to say yes. She wanted Bucky to take her home and go off to war with a promise to return.

(She didn’t want him to go to that war at all, but it would be hypocritical to stop him)

She didn’t say that. She said, “No, really, I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed, ’s all.”

It was a testament to how little time he thought they had left that Bucky accepted that weak explanation and twisted his face into a grin as he tugged her along eagerly.

“Yeah, well, if think any of this is cool, just wait ’til we get to the main event.”

Steph laughed and formed half-apologies to all the folks they pushed past in the effort to get closer to the stage Bucky seemed determined to get to. It was nice, seeing him this genuinely excited. For the last couple of months since he enlisted, he’d been worrying about Steph nonstop, concerned about how she’ll survive when he’s gone. That concern had manifested in the form of fights every time he had a long enough break from training to visit her in Brooklyn.

It was always the same thing, too: he would worry about her fights, she would claim she could take care of herself, and he would point out the fact that she obviously couldn't. They were like two wounded animals, defensive and lashing out, all because they were both terrified for the other, and too stubborn to admit it.

But she wasn't going to think about all that. Bucky was here, now, and he wasn’t going anywhere for the moment. He was safe.

Or, well, as safe as he could be when he was all of ten feet away from that Stark contraption. Steph and Bucky (and the rest of the enraptured crowd) let out a gasp as the assistants pulled away the car’s wheels, revealing some sort of advanced technology that Steph couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“…with Stark robotic reversion technology, you’ll be able to do just that.” Howard Stark flipped a switch with no small amount of flair, and, with a steady hum, the car began to levitate.

“Holy cow,” Bucky said, shaking his head in delight and disbelief. It was an attitude the whole crowd related in, including Steph, who stared up at the thing in amazement.

She opened her mouth to share a similar sentiment, but then the technology keeping the car afloat began to hiss and pop. Bucky just managed to throw an arm out in front of them both before the whole thing came crashing down, sending a shower of sparks into the first few rows.

Mr. Stark’s picture-perfect grin stayed in place through it all, shrugging at the crowd and saying, “I did say a few years, didn’t I?”

That was enough to win over most of the crowd, applause and shouts of praise bursting into existence. Steph looked to Bucky, smiling widely, but then a scuffle a little ways behind him caught her attention.

Three men, obviously drunk, were surrounding a girl. They leered things that Steph couldn't quite hear with her faulty ears, but the girl blushed and flinched at the words. Everyone in the crowd was pretending not to notice the scene, and. Well.

Steph was small and, if she would admit it, weak, but she was also a master of slipping out of tight spots from years of practice, and Bucky could do nothing but shout her name as she slid from his grasp and wove through the crowd to the gang of men.

“Hey!” She was already panting a little and red-faced as she stood before them, glaring at the men and giving the girl a much softer look. "Are you alright?"

The girl chewed on her lip, eyes glancing between Steph and the men, who were growing more tense as seconds passed.

"You should get out of here," she said, eyes wide.

Steph tried to exude confidence, but it was hard when you weren't much more than five feet two inches of blonde hair and righteous anger. "You're coming with me, then."

The men—there were three of them—exchanged looks, and the brunet in the center stepped forward and towered over Steph. "No, I don't think she is."

Steph raised her chin, looking him dead in the eyes, face daring. "We're gonna have a problem, then."

The girl really did look panicked then, more so than when it was just her and the men.

But, just as Steph had suspected, the brunet started to laugh maliciously, and said, "Let that one go, boys. This one will be a lot more fun to play with."

They released the girl, who stood frozen for a second, looking at Steph like she was torn, but ultimately disappeared into the crowd. Steph clenched her fists.

"You don't have to fight, you know. Don't wanna bruise those pretty lips--not 'til later, at least."

"That makes one of us," she replies, watching him and his friends carefully.

Just barely, Steph could hear Bucky pushing through the crowd that had formed around her and the men, cursing and shouting, and she knew he wasn’t going to be happy.

But she couldn’t just walk away.

Bucky broke into the circle just in time to see Steph ram her fist into the man’s face. She was tiny from all her ailments, but the man was so obviously not expecting a girl like Steph to clock him one that he stumbled back a pace or two.

The shock never lasted long, though, and Bucky rushed over and was pulling Steph away by her arm before those blockheads could realize that a girl who barely weighed ninety pounds soaking wet just punched him in the face.

There was quite a scene, now—Bucky thought that even Mr. Stark might’ve been watching his girl fight from up on stage—and the men finally recovered enough to not let the subject drop.

“You bitch!” The guy shouted, face just a bit bruised, and started to barrel towards them.

Bucky growled deep in his chest at the insult, and he pushed Steph behind him. With a solid wallop, he laid out the jerk, and they left him groaning on the floor of the courtyard with his cronies staring at them in surprise.

Steph was grinning when they finally stopped running beside some building, chest heaving enough to make Bucky worry a little, but before he could ask, she hugged him. “I had him on the ropes, Buck.”

“I know you did. Just wish you wouldn’t fight everyone you meet.”

“He was a bully. You know I couldn’t just let him get away with pickin' on that girl.”

Bucky sighed and bent down to rest his forehead on hers. “I know. Just—promise me you won’t do anything stupid until I get back?”

Steph felt her good mood drain away. She clenched her jaw and stared up into Bucky’s face. “How can I?” she asked, defiant. “You’re takin’ all the stupid with you.”

She never gave an inch, and Bucky couldn’t help but let a smile, bitter and frustrated as it was, form on his face.

“You’re a punk.”

“Jerk.”

They held eye contact for a moment, both suddenly aware how close they were, and then Bucky dropped his gaze, leaning back with a inhale. He started to tug her along, back to their apartment presumably, but Steph stopped him with a gentle pull on his arm.

She couldn’t tell him how worried she was, or express how much she didn’t want him to go, so instead she said, “Show those Nazis who’s boss, and be home quick, okay?”

Bucky nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Steph blinked a few times, and then they continued to their apartment back under their shared mask of nonchalance.

The war loomed, but hell if Steph was going to let it have her Bucky.


	2. Chapter 2

“You should’ve seen this girl go, Doc.” Howard Stark, owner of Stark Industries and key to the success of the war effort, gestured wildly with his glass while recounting the story. Dr. Erskine had never seen him so enthusiastic about anything that wasn’t machinery, much less about a person (and a woman at that).

Howard took another sip of the liquor in his glass and continued. “She’s—I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve met Agent Carter. Just this tiny blonde dame, yelling at a guy for harassing a girl."

Dr. Erskine felt a corner of his mouth lift in amusement. “You _do_ tend towards blondes, no?”

“That’s—” Howard stopped and reconsidered. “Alright, that’s fair. But believe me, this woman is something else, appearance be damned.”

“You like her.” It was not a question.

“You would, too, if you’d seen her.” Howard must have seen something in Dr. Erskine’s face, because he quickly clarified. “But she’s involved. _Very_ involved. Never seen a guy so dizzy for a doll, or a gal so taken by her guy.”

At this, Dr. Erskine leaned back slightly, a frown marring his features. He had assumed Howard was telling him all this to suggest her as a candidate for the serum. Couples meant a lot of collateral damage if the operation was to fail.

“And you still think she is a good candidate, despite this?”

“Her guy was in uniform already,” Howard replied, a little defensively. He didn’t like people implying that he was heartless, even if it happened often. “By the looks of it, he’s shipping out tomorrow. They’re already being separated as it is. Besides, a dame like her isn’t going to just sit around and wait for him to win the war for her.”

Those words won the good doctor over, and his mouth curved into something near a smile. “I will meet with her,” he declared. “You can find her?”

“Please. I’m _Howard Stark_.”

“Very good.” Dr. Erskine stood and gestured at the glass in the inventor’s hand. “Do you have any more schnapps?”

“ _Do I have any more schnapps?_ ” Howard repeated incredulously. “I’m _Howard Stark._ ”

“So you’ve said.” Dr. Erskine rolled his eyes.

Howard gave him his media-patented grin and poured the good doctor a glass. Then, he raised his own in a toast.

“To the girl that’s going to win us a war.”

“If she agrees,” Dr. Erskine finished.

“C’mon, Doc, when’s the last time anyone has said no to me?”

* * *

“No.”

Gloria jerked back in surprise, blinking. Steph felt a little bad, since Gloria was just doing what Bucky had asked her to do, but mostly she was just angry.

“But Stephanie,” Gloria argued meekly, the container of stew clutched in her hands. “You look like you haven’t eaten in _days_ , and Bucky—”

“Bucky,” Steph interrupted, “knows I can take care of myself. I appreciate the concern, Gloria, but I can get by on my own.”

Steph moved to close the door, but Gloria stuck her foot in the way at the last moment, keeping it open a crack.

“We’re all worried about you,” Gloria said, referring to their group of friends. It was made up of maybe three men Bucky worked with, their wives, and their neighbors from their old neighborhood—really, they were more Bucky's friends than Steph's, but they were always nice enough.

Steph could feel her resolve softening. Of course they were worried. For the four days that Bucky had been gone, all she’d done was sit in the house and sulk. Steph would’ve been worried, too, and guilt washed through her. What happened to taking care of herself?

Steph squared her shoulders, clenched her jaw, and pulled her door back open despite the shame that came with accepting help. Gloria had the good sense to look surprised even as she bustled past her to get to the kitchen.

Gloria set the bowl of stew of the rickety kitchen table and wrinkled her nose. “I remember this place being bigger.”

Steph rolled her eyes and stood next to Gloria. “Yeah, well, if you’d come around more often, maybe you’d remember it better.”

“Maybe if you weren't so sick all the time, we would come around more often.”

Steph held her gaze for another few moments, a little surprised at the words. It didn't sound like she was blaming Steph for her constant sickness, just speaking the truth. The woman was a brutally honest, at times, but not unkind. It’s probably why Bucky had recruited her for babysitting duty.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” Steph said. A sigh heaved out of her, and she lifted her lips in a sardonic half-smile. “’S a good thing I had Bucky all these years lookin’ after me, huh?”

Gloria winced. Then she said, “He’ll come back to you, Stephanie.” She made no move to offer Steph any sort of physical comfort—they weren’t that type of friends, or even friends at all, really—but those plain, honest words were enough.

“I know,” Steph met Gloria’s eyes. “And if he doesn’t, I’ll go to Germany and drag his ass back myself.”

Gloria smiled a little, opening her mouth to respond, but then a knock sounded on the door. The two women exchanged a glance.

“You bring a friend?” Steph asked, already heading to the front door.

Gloria shook her head, and Steph sighed, assuming Bucky had enlisted another person for watching over her, and she swung the door open.

Immediately, she knew this was no babysitter.

“Hi.” She would recognize that charming smile anywhere. “I’m Howard Stark. May I come in?”

Steph wasn’t often struck speechless. In general, she prided herself on being able to keep a cool head during almost any situation. But, really, who would have words when some rich celebrity dressed in clothes that cost more than her apartment appeared at the door?

Apparently, Mr. Stark got tired of waiting for Steph to respond and instead slid past her into her and Bucky’s apartment.

 _That_ was enough to get her brain working again.

“Excuse me, who are you?”

Mr. Stark barely spared her glance before he continued to look around her apartment, curiosity clear on his face. “I told you. Howard Stark—you know, rich genius inventor? I saw you at my exhibition a few days back, so I know you recognize me.”

Steph nodded then crossed her arms. “Alright, then. What are you doing in my house?”

“Now _there’s_ a question.” Mr. Stark snapped and pointed at Gloria. “You, my lovely lady, need to leave.”

Gloria, at a loss for words up until this point, looked between Mr. Stark and Steph, spluttering, “W-What? Stephanie, what—”

“Oh, your name’s Stephanie? That would’ve made it so much easier to find you, instead of having to ask around for the ‘short blonde dame who’d fight a tree.’ Then again, it still only took me a few hours to find you.”

“Find me? What do you need me for?” God, Steph hoped she wasn’t getting arrested. Or sued.

“I’ll explain as soon as your very attractive friend leaves,” Mr. Stark said, winking.

Gloria, when Steph looked to her, immediately began to shake her head. “No. I am not leaving you here with _him_. Bucky—“

“—Doesn’t control me,” Steph finished. She kissed Gloria’s cheek and prodded her out the door. “Thank you for checking on me, Gloria.”

Mr. Stark gave her a grin when she turned back around. “Now, how would you like to fight in the war?”

“What?” Of all the things she was expecting him to say, that was not one of them. “What are you talking about?”

“The war? You know, the only thing anyone has been talking about lately?”

“Yeah, I know that but—” Steph could barely make sense of what he said. Women didn’t fight in wars. They were nurses, sometimes, but they didn’t _fight_. Much less Steph, who could barely walk up the stairs without her lungs giving out on her. “You want me to fight in the war?”

Mr. Stark shrugged. “Well, you got to meet the Doc first, but I’ll give you a chance.”

Steph was tempted to explain why she was _sure_ they had the wrong gal, but then she thought of Bucky, fighting in Germany without her. If she could just get over there she’s so sure she can do right, not just by Bucky but by the whole world.

This was just the thing that Bucky didn’t want her to do. Well, maybe he hadn’t imagined this specific scenario—God knows Steph hadn’t—but the sentiment is the same. _Don’t go with the strange man promising you everything you want._

“Okay,” Steph finally said, looking up at Mr. Stark. “Yes. I’ll take it.”

It’s not like she had ever listened to Bucky before.

* * *

Steph wasn't sure what she had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't this.

"But you didn't answer my question. Do you want to kill Nazis?" The man that speaking was distinctly German, and he was eying her through his circular, wire-framed glasses.

Steph was sitting tensely in the plush chair in Mr. Stark's living room, overwhelmed and confused by everything going on. First, a celebrity comes to her apartment, then, said celebrity takes her to his huge mansion so she can talk to this Dr. Erskine fellow. The doctor was asking all sorts of things, too, that she didn't really think was relevant to her fighting in a war. Her parents, Bucky, the fights she'd gotten in—all of it came back to that one question: Does she want to kill Nazis?

"Is this a test?" Steph asked.

She was surprised when he actually said yes.

Steph wasn't sure what he was looking for, through all of his questioning. She wanted to fight so badly, to prove her worth and do her part, but the doctor's face was schooled to perfection, leaving no tells for Steph to figure out what exactly he wanted. All that she had to give was the truth, and she hoped that it was enough.

"I don't wanna kill anybody," she began honestly. Her eyes stared up at the doctor, big and imploring and hopeful as she continued. "I don't like bullies. I don't care where they come from."

In the moments of silence before the doctor began to speak, Steph's heart was beating so violently that she thought the weak thing would break down from her anxiety right there in the doctor’s lavish office in Stark’s mansion. But then Dr. Erskine said, "Well, there are already so many men fighting this war. Maybe what we need now is a woman. Mr. Stark?"

There was a thump, and the man in question bustled into the room not a second later, looking both disheveled and proud. Dr. Erskine rolled his eyes as he stood.

"Hey, Doc—Miss Rogers. What can I do for you? I take it everything went just fine?"

Dr. Erskine pursed his lips a little in exasperation, but the fondness it held was obvious. Steph blinked, pushing herself out of her seat and looking back and forth at the men.

"I imagine you already know. But, yes. Why don't you take Stephanie back to her home for a good night's sleep? She begins training tomorrow."

Mr. Stark opened his mouth to answer, but Steph beat him to the punch. "Excuse me?" she said, feeling winded. She could only hope that meant what she thought it did. "Training?"

Dr. Erskine lifted a corner of his mouth and stuck out his hand. "Congratulations, soldier."

Steph's face ached with the force that she was beaming at. She nearly tripped in her eagerness to shake the doctor's hand, and she ended up throwing her arms around him in a hug when gratitude overwhelmed her.

"Thank you," she said fervently, cheeks pink as she stumbled back. "I won't let you down, sir."

Dr. Erskine gave her the first full smile she'd seen from him. "I will hold you to that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay another post! school's rough, but I'm trying my best to keep updating every few days! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: attempted rape and also not good writing. all my information about the military comes from what little knowledge I have in my brain. If you have any corrections, feel free to let me know :)

She wasn’t used to this much attention.

Steph had always been short and scrawny and not particularly beautiful in anyone’s eyes but Bucky’s, so she was seldom under any sort of spotlight. Of course, there was the once in a while when she’d keel over in the middle of the street and everyone would stare or rush over, but even that lasted only as long as it took for Bucky to shout, “She’s fine!” and carry her back home.

There wasn’t going to be anyone helping her out of the spotlight now.

It was a sunny day in New Jersey when she stood in line with the other soldiers in training, chest puffed out, jaw clenched, chin high because she wasn’t afraid of any of these guys. She deserved to be there just as much as they did, and no amount of taunting and poking was going to convince her otherwise. Just because she was a woman didn’t mean she couldn’t also be a soldier.

There was proof enough of that sauntering over. Steph didn’t know her name, but she was hooked the second the brunette starting shouting orders.

The fact that she punched the asshole who had been bothering Steph earlier didn’t hurt, either.

“Agent Carter.” There was another man coming over then, and he was much more what Steph imagined when she thought of a drill sergeant—gruff, old, and male. Agent Carter saluted him, referring to him as Colonel Phillips. “I see you’re breaking in the new recruits. Get off the ground, boy.”

He went on to talk about wars and the men who fight in them, the whole thing sounding more like propaganda than anything of real importance, and Steph only realized that he hadn’t been warned of her presence when he choked halfway through his speech. Even so, Steph didn’t back down or offer any sort of explanation when he stared.

Eventually, after a whole minute without any clarification, he asked, “Who are you?”

The other men in the line shifted slightly, someone near the end stifling a laugh, and Steph made her hands into fists.

“Stephanie Rogers, sir.”

“And what are you doing at my military base, Miss Rogers?”

Steph didn’t dare show any sort of emotion. “Training for war, sir.”

At that, some of her fellow soldiers outright laughed. Colonel Phillips was too stunned by her answer to berate them (or so she thought. He hadn’t so much as twitched). Agent Carter, on the other hand, sent them a fiery glare and stepped forward.

“Colonel, Miss Rogers is the candidate Dr. Erskine spoke about. She has every right to be here.” Agent Carter sent Steph a little smile, just a quirk of her red lips, and Steph mustered one up in return out of gratefulness.

The Colonel grunted, clearly unimpressed, and nodded so that Steph knew she was no longer being spoken to. She resisted the urge to sigh in relief as he continued his speech, attention no longer on her.

It wasn’t the treatment she had expected when Mr. Stark and Dr. Erskine offered her this opportunity. In the time it took to change and line up, men had wolf-whistled at her, called her several names, and one had even grabbed her and tried to lead her out of the camp before she could open her mouth to argue. So no, it wasn’t ideal; it wasn’t even good, really. But it was an opportunity, and she wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

But really, the other men were just awful. If her asthma, weak heart, and general lack of muscle mass of any volume wasn’t enough to make the training terrible, the constant jeers and shoves certainly were. It’s one thing for them to dislike her at first due to their obvious differences, but weeks passed and they still hated her.

She still woke up in the middle of the night, shivering because someone had taken her blanket and thrown it into the mud outside. She still had to correct them on her name every time they spoke to her, because they though it was funny to call her ‘kitten’ and ‘dolly’ instead of treating her with respect. She still had to take showers while the rest of the camp was eating because if she didn’t, the men would take her clothes on good days and attempt to do worse on the bad ones.

That particular incident was rough. It was three weeks into training, and one of their officers had them doing pushups for ages because of Stephanie’s terrible form. Their annoyance was understandable, because, yeah, she really couldn’t get her act together, but it wasn’t as if she wasn’t trying her hardest. Still, it was endless pushups until the sky was orange and red, and no one was in a good mood as they all slouched to the showers.

Oscar Cowman, in particular, was looking steamed. He was a heavy white guy in her unit that’d been on the forefront of the nastiness aimed towards her those weeks. Steph felt the heavy, burning weight of his gaze on her back as she stumbled towards the bathrooms, shoulders drawing more tense as time passed. Already, she could feel that something was wrong, so she planned to hurry through her shower as quick as she possibly could and slink back to her bunk, hopefully without drawing any more unwanted attention.

She could hear Bucky sighing with exasperation from across the ocean.

The shower stall she used was at the very back corner, separated from the rest by a shoulder-high concrete wall. The other men generally gave her the common courtesy of staying in their own space while everyone was showering (mostly because Agent Carter always doled out noticeably more vicious punishments to the men that messed with Steph throughout the day), but this time, when Steph was washing the last of the soap from her hair, Oscar approached.

Steph, while in no way an exhibitionist, had too much pride to cover herself when Oscar leaned up against the concrete wall, blocking the only exit out of the stall. Cheeks hot, she kept her eyes firmly on the man’s face even as his eyes roamed unbounded.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Steph said lowly. Her voice was steady but her fists were clenched. She knew that things were only going downhill when Oscar laughed.

“And I don’t wanna girl at my back in the war,” he replied darkly, and took a step forward.

Steph looked to the side. The other men were resolutely trying to ignore what they knew was happening. She looked forward. Oscar was grinning, predatory and still-angry as he reached for her.

“Hope you were expectin’ a fight.” She certainly wasn’t giving in without one.

Oscar lunged.

There’s something to be said about growing up on the streets. Steph learned to fight dirty right after she learned that fighting clean wasn’t getting her anywhere, and the few fights that she did manage to handle without Bucky’s help usually consisted of her biting and scratching and kicking whatever she could reach just to ensure that she came out of the toss-up alive, if not a victor.

It was these skills, the ones that Bucky constantly worried about, that had Oscar stumbling away from her moments later, clutching at his face and shouting.

Her heart was beating way too fast and she was dangerously close to having a panic-induced asthma attack, but she ignored that as she slung on her clothes and sprinted out of the shower-building and back to her quarters, shaking slightly as she sat on her bed and panted.

She missed Bucky.

It was a feeling that’d been building up since he left, like a tidal wave. She hadn’t cried, not when he held her hand to his mouth as he said goodbye, not in the lonely week alone in their apartment, and not since she came to Camp Lehigh. But now she felt like that wave had reached it’s crest and was crashing down, and she let out the first sob, tears blurring the image of blood under her fingernails, heaves masking her trembling.

She missed Bucky like the frozen ground would yearn for summer, andhis absence felt like frostbite spreading through her chest as she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

The men were at dinner, now. She should’ve been, too, to prove to them that she wasn’t any closer to giving up her shot than she was before Cowman attacked her, but she was tired, and shaken, and sick for a home that had never been a place.

She missed Bucky.

The door creaked open.

At first, Steph thought that Oscar had returned, some lizard-bird instinctual reaction after the assault. But she’d seen the damage she did—felt her nails leave bloody tracks across his face—and there was no way he was coming for her without heading to the infirmary first.

Maybe, it could’ve been the other men, skipping supper in favor of getting revenge for a comrade they favor over her tenfold, but then a beautiful voice called out, British lilt making it unmistakeable, “Private Rogers? Stephanie?”

Steph quickly wiped at her face with the palms of her hands, clasping them together to stop the noticeable shaking as she slid off her bed to greet Agent Carter. She couldn’t even lift her eyes.

“Yes, ma’am?”

Agent Carter’s heels made distinct _clicks_ on the wooden floors as she stepped into the room. Steph’s eyes were resolutely trained on the ground, and the only bit of the woman that she could see was the tips of her black shoes when she came to a halt a few feet away.

“Are you alright?” she asked, and Steph nodded before the question was even out of her mouth. “You don’t have anything to prove to me, you know. I can see you shaking. _Are you alright?_ ”

Steph was still feeling fragile. Her grieving session (she shouldn’t call it that; Bucky wasn’t dead) was cut off by Agent Carter’s entrance, and she hadn’t had any time to gather herself. The best she could do was choke out, “I’m fine.”

Agent Carter let out a sigh, and then she put a hand on Steph’s shoulder. Steph was so surprised at the contact that her eyes unwittingly darted up to land on Agent Carter’s face, and she was shocked to see no disappointment or blame anywhere in her expression, only concern.

“I’d like to talk to you in my quarters if that’s alright with you.” It wasn’t as if she were forcing Steph, but she didn’t really have any other choice, either. Steph nodded, following Agent Carter out of the building in the barracks that Steph has been staying in, and into a slightly smaller, separate house. Agent Carter had her own tiny room, probably because she was one of the highest-up people in the camp and also a woman, and she closed the door quietly behind them as they stepped in, ushering Steph to sit on her bed.

Agent Carter turned to Steph, looking determined with her hands planted on her hips. “If you won’t tell me if you’re alright, at least tell me what happened.”

Steph swallowed. “Er, well, I messed up on the pushups this afternoon. We all had to do ‘em for hours.”

Agent Carter rolled her eyes. “Hopkins should stick to his obstacle course.”

Steph let her lips curve for a second, but the gesture felt forced. “The other guys were mad. Don’t think a girl should be part of the army.”

Eyebrows furrowed and brown eyes focused, Agent Carter sat down next to Steph, the mattress squeaking as she did so. “And?”

She didn’t know why she was so shaken. Things like this had happened before—Steph got in fights in alleyways, of course they did. But this is the first time Bucky wasn’t around to scare off the bullies or pick up her pieces; this time, Steph was alone. “Cowman wanted to scare me off. Came after me in the showers. Didn’ do anything, though.”

“Yes, I saw what you did to his face.” A spike of unease went through Steph at that, but Peggy just smiled. “I have to say, I think it was an improvement.”

Despite all Steph’s despair, that shocked a few laughs out of her. Agent Carter smiled and seemed glad that Steph was no longer on the verge of tears. It took a moment for the blonde to calm down again, but when she did, Agent Carter put her hands on her shoulders and peered seriously into her eyes.

“You _can_ fight this war. You know your worth; what anyone else says doesn’t really matter. I have faith in you, Stephanie.”

It was amazing, being believed in by a woman she admired so much. She appreciated it beyond words. The agent’s confidence warmed her from her very core.

She didn’t say any of that, though. “It’s Steph.”

Agent Carter blinked, and Steph was horrified at herself. But then the brunette laughed, red lips stretching into a grin and brown eyes squeezing shut with mirth. She pulled Steph into a hug. “Oh, my. I think we’ll be great friends, Steph. You can call me Peggy.”

God, Steph hoped so.


	4. Chapter 4

She wasn't doing well. Steph hated to admit it, but she was the slowest and the worst at every course, her asthma and weak muscles proving a liability at every turn.

It was one failure after another. She could barely climb the ropes course, couldn't keep her rifle out of the mud when army crawling (though she'll blame half of that on Anderson—that bastard kicked the barbed wire down), and it was next to impossible for her to keep up with the folks while running, now that her commanding officer no longer gave her an opportunity to think her way out of it (Peggy laughed for ages after that incident, and Steph was quietly thrilled at her reaction). Steph wasn't going to give up, and she'd never say it out loud, but a quiet voice inside her thought that maybe she wasn't cut out for the army.

It's obvious that she wasn't the only one thinking it. Even then Dr. Erskine and Colonel Phillips were talking about her while they all did their morning exercise routine, and Peggy winced every time she saw Steph's jumping-jack form.

Steph was busy wallowing in her self-pity—and sweat—when Colonel Phillips called out, "Grenade!"

The little metal ball thumped to a stop a few yards away, and there was no time to think.

All the other men lunged away, diving behind trucks and crates, but Steph stumbled towards it. She wasn't a perfect soldier—not even a decent one, if she was honest—but she could do this. Her life for theirs.

She curled up around the grenade, yelling, "Get back! Get away!"

A few moments later, she was still not dead. She heard the murmurs, and a dull roar of embarrassment filled her as she made the connection; it was a dummy grenade. Steph pushed herself up, cheeks pink and face dusty from hugging the ground. Peggy, Dr. Erskine and Colonel Phillips (along with the rest of the camp) all stared at her with horror, delight, and controlled disappointment on their faces, respectively.

The only thing Steph could think to say (the only thing that would make the situation a little more bearable) was, "Is this a test?"

Peggy huffed, striding past her two superiors with poorly-concealed malice, and helped Steph to her feet. After she dusted the blonde off, she put a hand on Steph's cheek, just for a moment, before turning away.

"Alright, boys, back in formation! Hurry up, my dead grandmother moves faster, God bless her soul."

Maybe nothing had changed—Steph still could barely struggle through each task—but there was the slightest shift in the way her fellow soldiers treated her now. It's not really noticeable, but by the time supper rolled around, Steph realized that she hadn't been tripped or catcalled at once since the incident with the grenade. Anderson even nodded at her when they were hanging up their helmets. It wasn't respect, not really, but it was a hell of a lot better than the plain hostility she'd been on the receiving end of up until that point.

* * *

Of course, just as things began to get better, everything changed.

Dr. Erskine met with her the day after the grenade incident.

“You are not a normal soldier,” he began. His eyes were very serious, if fond, as he looked at her. Steph frowned, just slightly, and wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be an insult or a compliment. Either way, it was true.

“No, sir, I don’t suppose I am.” She spoke like she was daring him to challenge her.

The words made Dr. Erskine smile, and he held out his hand. Hesitantly, Steph put her hand in his, wondering what he could tell her that merited the contact. “There is a reason you are here, Stephanie.”

She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded.

Dr. Erskine was quiet for a few moments as he looked at her, his eyes bright with hope, and then he continued. “For a long time, I have been working on a serum that will change the tide of the war. Johann Schmidt forced me to apply it to him, but I was not ready, and it failed. It turned him into a monster. You see, the formula takes what is on the inside and amplifies it. The good becomes great, or, in Schmidt’s case—“

“Bad becomes worse.” Steph swallowed. “Got it.”

He squeezed her hand. “I want to use the serum on you, Stephanie.”

She blinked. It took her a minute to understand what he was saying, but when she did she pulled back slightly, eyebrows furrowed. “Me? But I’m—I’m just a girl from Brooklyn.”

Dr. Erskine looked at her with genuine admiration and fatherly love that she’d never seen before, even from her real father. He said, “You _are_ a girl from Brooklyn. You are _also_ a good person. With my serum, I believe you can do great things. Be a hero. Change the war.”

 _Save Bucky,_ she thought. There wasn’t even really a choice. “Okay. Yes. I’ll do it.”

The doctor didn’t looked surprised, only pleased. “There is some risk involved in this, you understand. There is a chance that you will not survive the procedure.”

“Sir, there’s a chance that I die of an asthma attack every day. At least with this I’m trying.”

Dr. Erskine nodded and stood, Steph following suit soon after. “Get some rest,” he said, releasing her hand and guiding her to the door by the small of her back. “We will do the procedure tomorrow.”

Steph ignored the lurching of her stomach. “Yes, sir.”

“And Stephanie,” He grabbed her shoulder just as she was about to leave. “Don’t forget who you are. Not a perfect soldier, but a good person. Keep your good heart.”

She smiled, and if it was a little weak, neither of them mentioned it. “I won’t let you down.”

He released her shoulder. “I will hold you to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short one, sorry


	5. Chapter 5

Peggy woke her up the next morning, face schooled into calmness, and asked, "Are you ready for the next step?"

Steph's heart leapt. She couldn't help the way her shoulders squared and her chest puffed up with determination as she nodded. "Yes."

Peggy's lips tightened, just slightly, and tilted her head down a little. "Alright, then, you'll need to get changed."

Peggy handed her a bundle of clothing, and Steph stared at it for a moment before looking back up. "Why? What's wrong with my usual gear?"

"We'll have an audience."

Steph ignored the way that made her stomach lurch with uneasiness and put on the uniform that Peggy gave her.

Peggy made an unimpressed noise when Steph showed up at the car a few minutes later with her tan dress shirt mis-buttoned and her tie untucked, but the problem was easily rectified on the drive to wherever they were going. Peggy even fixed Steph's hair for good measure, and then sat back, letting silence seep between them.

"I know this neighborhood," Steph finally said, a little less than an hour later. There's no mistaking it; they were in Brooklyn. "I got beat up in that alley. And that parking lot. And behind that diner."

Peggy eyed her, half confused, a bit amused, and the rest concerned. "Do you not know when to run away?”

"You start running, and they'll never let you stop." Steph tore her gaze away from the windows. "You stand up, you push back… they can't say no forever, right?"

Peggy hummed in agreement, shifting in her dress uniform, and Steph supposed that her friend knew exactly what she was talking about. In fact, she probably dealt with much more than Steph ever had, as successful as she was, and the words just felt stupid now.

Steph rushed to continue. "I just… I could never just walk away if I saw someone startin' trouble. Drove my Bucky nuts. Probably why he was the only one who'd deal with me."

That caught Peggy's attention. "You must have had other friends."

"Well, making friends was always a little tough when my health was so spotty, and the past few years, it just didn't matter that much. I figured I'd wait."

"For what?" Peggy seemed to genuinely want to know.

Steph shrugged, embarrassed now. "The right crowd, I guess."

Peggy held her gaze, red lips quirked in a tiny smile, and Steph guessed the expression was mirrored on her own face. The car jerked to a stop, and the driver opened the door, gesturing towards the little shop they were parked in front of.

"This way," he said.

Steph slid out of the car after Peggy and looked at the surroundings with confusion. "What are we doing here?"

Peggy smirked and said, "Follow me," before entering the shop.

Immediately, a old woman stepped out from behind the counter and robotically said, "Wonderful weather this morning, isn't it?"

It sounded like some sort of code, and apparently Peggy must've given the proper response, because the old woman abruptly turned and led them to a bookshelf, which pulled apart to reveal a long hallway after the woman pulled out a certain book.

Steph, who was sure her eyes were wide as baseballs, followed Peggy through the hall into a large laboratory-looking room. Everyone stared at her when she appeared at the top of the stairs, and Steph hardly resisted the urge to fidget.

Peggy gently nudged her down the stairs and the trance seemed to be broken, scientists and nurses and whoever else continuing their conversations as if they'd never stopped. Dr. Erskine and Howard waited at the bottom, both looking carefully confident. Their assured smiles did a little to ease the tension Steph hadn't realized was gathering in her shoulders.

"Good morning," Dr. Erskine said to her. A light flashed, and he politely told off a photographer. "Are you ready?"

Steph licked her lips, looking at all the equipment surrounding her, and nodded.

"Good. Take off your shirt, skirt, and hat, but leave your undergarments on."

Steph glanced around, noticing all the senators and scientists and—God, that was Colonel Phillips. Still, she began to strip, resigned to the fact that their first impression of her would be in her underwear. She could _feel_ the gazes on her and her neck burnt with quiet embarrassment. Oh, well. It's not like she'd ever had much dignity in the first place.

Dr. Erskine helped Steph onto the machine, and the metal was a cold shock on her back that made goosebumps pop up on her limbs immediately.

"Comfortable?" he asked. His eyes betrayed the first bit of nervousness she'd seen on him.

Steph smiled at him reassuringly and tried to lighten his spirits with a joke as she tugged at the leather restraints he belted around her wrists and waist. "It's a little cold. Have you considered a heater?”

Dr. Erskine looked apologetic but slightly amused. “I’ll ask Stark to put one in.”

Howard came over then, bouncing a little. "Power levels at one hundred percent. We may dim half the lights in Brooklyn, but we are as ready as we'll ever be."

Peggy was staring at her. She was much more visibly anxious than anyone else in the room. She seemed surprised when Dr. Erskine asked her to go up the the viewing booth, but acquiesced with little argument.

Dr. Erskine gave Steph's arm a final comforting squeeze and stepped away, picking up a microphone and tapping it to get the audience's attention. He started out by saying something about avoiding annihilation and a path of peace, and Steph was sure it would've been just the sort of speech that she liked if she could've only focussed. But, _gosh_ , she was nervous. She shouldn't have been—she was in the hands of the two smartest and most capable scientists she'd ever met—but she was. Her attention was only recaptured when a nurse stuck her with a needle.

Steph recalled something about microinjections from when the procedure was first being described to her and said, "That wasn't so bad."

Dr. Erskine looked a little torn between amusement and concern. "That was penicillin."

Steph blinked. The doctor shrugged. The countdown to the serum's infusion began, and Dr. Erskine put a hand on Steph's shoulder just as the needles were stuck into her arms.

The serum was bright blue and burned when it entered her bloodstream. The pain of it had her gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut—it was a little like when she had scarlet fever and felt like she was boiling in her own skin. Then, like flipping a switch, the heat in her veins turned abruptly into ice, and her eyes slammed open.

"Now, Mr. Stark," The voice was a little muddled through the blood she could hear pounding in her ears, but it was still obviously Dr. Erskine. Howard must have done something at the call, because metal walls were closing around Steph like a coffin and she was being tilted ninety degrees until she was standing, though she was fairly sure the only reason why she was still upright was due to the restraints holding her in place.

"Stephanie? Can you hear me?" The doctor sounded faintly unsure.

She took a breath. "'S probably too late to go to the bathroom."

"We will proceed."

Steph was no stranger to pain. She was closely familiar with it from years of growing up with a curved spine and lungs that didn't work and an immune system that ensured she caught every sickness flavoring Brooklyn. She knew pain from those fights that she could never walk away from or win and the nights that there just wasn't enough money for luxuries like food. Pain was an old family friend to Steph, but this was no simple pain.

This was _agony_.

It built up slow, like snow that drifts down so gradually and insidiously that the people sleeping on the street corners don't realize they're in danger until they don't wake up. From the moment Howard said "that's ten percent," Steph was gritting her teeth. At twenty percent, it was worse than almost all of the hunger pains she'd ever endured. Thirty percent and she could forget any of her nights writhing in sickness. Fifty and she gasped out of her nose and wondered how on Earth her vital signs could be normal when _she was being torn apart._ Seventy percent and Steph _yearned_ for the simple torture that was the serum. This was so—she was—it hurt so— _please_ —she was _screaming_.

She knew that because her throat was hurting now, too, but that was all she was sure of. She thought someone might've been calling her name, banging on the metal coffin she was sure she would die inside—and then Peggy's voice cut through the haze.

"Shut it down! _Shut it down!_ "

Maybe it was the tone of her voice that reached just the level of panic that Winifred Barnes carried whenever Bucky and Steph came home bloody, or maybe it was the way she pretended to be angry as a veil for her concern like Bucky always had, or maybe it was just the loudness of the new voice added to the fray of shouts, but, whatever the case, hearing Peggy's desperate demands brought forth a clarity that rose above the terrible pain.

Steph remembered why she was doing this. She remembered Bucky, fighting a war without her. She remembered her mother, who died believing that Stephanie would do great things despite her fragile grip on life. She remembered Peggy, determined to stop a million-dollar operation just to save the sickly girl who she'd only know a few weeks.

"Turn it off! Kill it! Kill the reactor!"

"No!" She shouted, voice rough and breaking. "Don't! I can do this!"

She could do this. Steph would not give up. This torture was her being remade into something stronger. This was so she no longer had to be saved, and could instead do the saving. Even the counter a little. She could do _this_.

There must've been something in her voice that made them believe her, because the pain steadily began to increase again (her body was tearing out of its skin) as Howard called out his numbers (every cell in her body had been replaced by acid) and she was being careful this time not to scream (her lungs were dust her heart was debris and her brain was _fire_ ) until, unlike the slow build that it had increased at, the pain suddenly stopped.

"Mr. Stark?"

The metal doors of the coffin opened up and Steph couldn't even open her eyes, just leaned back and panted while people fumbled with the restraints. After they were off, she immediately fell forwards, her limbs unable to support her. Hands were immediately upon her, grabbing hold of her arms and waist, and she opened her eyes, blinking at the light.

Peggy was there, directly in front of her and looking a little overwhelmed, and it was like Steph was seeing her for the first time. She never thought her vision was so bad before, but now, with everything clearer than spring water and twice as bright, she realized just how much she'd been missing. Peggy was a goddess—her lips, they were the most vibrant red, and those _eyes_ … well, at the moment they were completely focused on Steph.

"How do you feel?" Peggy asked, voice strong and British and beautiful and loud. She held a white cotton dress that she helped Steph into, and the fabric held a whole other layer of textures that Steph had never before noticed.

"I…" Steph paused and took a breath. Then, she realized just the marvel that was. "I can _breathe._ "

It seemed like that was all the confirmation Peggy had been waiting for, because her face broke out into a pleased smile, her composure finally returning with the relief, and she stepped back to let Dr. Erskine past her.

Steph, upon seeing him, pulled her arms out of the nurses' grasps and asked, "Did it work?"

She was still the same the same height, still recognizable as the punk she’d grown up as, but that was where the similarities ended. She finally had some much-needed meat on her bones (though Winifred Barnes would've still huffed at the sight of her and slip her a bowl of any food she could spare). Where her cheeks were once drawn and colorless, now they were fuller and rosier. Her hair seemed more healthy than it'd been, its dishwater blonde a bit glossier. Her skin was no longer pale with a lingering, constant sickness; now it was pink and healthy. Steph looked like she'd been revitalized. There was no question.

Dr. Erskine smiled, pride for himself and Steph plain to see. "Yes, Stephanie, it worked."

Elation filled Steph like a roaring fire—

—which was extinguished as a shot rang out and the doctor collapsed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did you say two updates in one weekend? probably not, but here it is anyway!

There was nothing she could do. The red blossomed on the front of Dr. Erskine’s lab coat, glaring and out of place, and Steph could do nothing. She was vaguely aware of her own babbling—“No, no, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay,”—as she knelt over where he fell, ignoring the screams and shouting (“He took it! _He took it!”_ ) of the people around her. She kept her hands pressed against his chest, and she could feel that she was so much stronger than she’d ever been before.

There was still nothing she could do.

Dr. Erskine was staring up at her, mouth forced into a smile that she _knew_ was supposed to be comforting for her. He didn’t even seem _scared_. Maybe because Steph was so terrified for him.

“Come on, please,” she said desperately, but she knew it was fruitless. He was shot in the chest. She could feel his heartbeat slowing. She could _hear it_.

He sucked in a shuddering breath, and slowly raised his hand, pointing to Steph’s heart. His eyebrows were raised, asking her silently if she understood, and all she could do was nod vigorously, trying to stay calm, stay calm, _stay calm_.

Then his hand dropped, a final breath like a sigh, and he died.

Steph took a sharp breath in, then removed her hands from his wound. She turned to look up at the staircase, staring after where the shooter went.

Dr. Erskine’s blood stained her hands.

Steph pushed past the group of people still panicking in the lab. She sprinted down that white hallway, past the dead old woman in the shop, and threw herself into the street just in time to push Peggy out of the way of the taxi.

“I had him!” she shouted at Steph, but the blonde didn’t care. She wasn’t going to lose Peggy too, much less to the same man.

“Sorry,” she simply replied and took off after the taxi.

She felt guilty for feeling this amazing so soon after Dr. Erskine’s death, but she’d also never done anything like this. She was running faster than some cars, and she didn’t even feel slightly out of breath. She could keep running like this for hours.

And jumping! She jumped _over a fence_. Before the serum, Steph couldn’t even grab the stuff that Bucky held over her head. Now, Steph could be the one doing the taunting.

That was, of course, if she survived this experience. Jumping on top of the taxi and holding on for dear life probably wasn’t her best idea, but it was the only one she came up with. Steph could imagine the look of pure horror Bucky would have on his face if he could see her now, getting shot at through the metal roof of a car.

The chase continued even as the car crashed. Steph was fine—invigorated, even, as she used the car door as a shield. But the shooter somehow managed to stay on his feet as he stumbled away. Steph chased him around a corner and lurched back as bullets whizzed past her. She was going to bring this guy to justice, but maybe she could do itlittle rougher than necessary, because he was using a kid as a hostage. Steph could only follow distantly, torn between her desperation to catch the shooter and not wanting the kid to get hurt.

Then he threw the kid in the water.

“Don’t worry! I can swim!” The kid shouted up at her, and she didn’t waste any more time after that.

The killer had jumped into some fancy submarine contraption and was escaping underwater, but Steph dove in after him. She supposed that after seeing all that she could do already, she shouldn’t have been surprised when she caught up with him and managed to smash in the sub’s window, throwing the man onto land where the glass test tube shattered, spilling bright blue across the bricks.

He coughed and sputtered, choking up water and even then trying to crawl away, but Steph wasn’t letting him get anywhere. She grabbed him by his shirt collar and hoisted him off the ground, forcing him to face her.

“Who do you work for?” she demanded, hot and angry.

The shooter grinned at her and— _what_ —bit through one of his teeth. Immediately, he began to convulse weakly, and through the white foam dripping from the corners of his mouth, he rasped, “Cut off one head, and two more shall take its place. _Hail HYDRA._ ”

Steph let his body fall to the ground, and she sat back, heaving out a sigh and waiting for the police cars she could already hear to arrive.

* * *

"The serum worked," Steph argued, hours later once Dr. Erskine’s body had been taken away, the serum had been lost, and Steph had given something like a liter of her own blood. She was trailing after Colonel Phillips as she spoke. "I can fight. You can't just sit me outta this, sir."

"I can and I will." Phillips stopped walking and finally turned to face Steph. His expression was no different than usual, but there was a warning underlying his tone. "I asked for an army of super soldiers, and all I got was a girl with a makeover. You are not enough."

He turned and walked away, leaving Steph to stare after him, not really shocked, but disappointed nonetheless.

 _Not enough?_ Steph repeated in her head. _I'll show him what_ not enough _can do._

There were scientists waiting to beckon her over to their lab, for testing or experiments Steph didn't know, and she turned to them with shoulders heavy with a sense of duty. If this was all she could do to help, she would do it. Even if it meant—

"Miss Rogers?"

Steph blinked and looked up at the man who stepped in her path, all oily black hair and white teeth shining as he grinned down at her.

"Hi, Senator Brandt—though, you can call me Richard."

"Hello," Steph said, smiling tightly as she moved to go past him. "You'll have to excuse me, sir. I've got to go—"

Senator Brandt grabbed her arm, and Steph stiffened and resisted the urge to wrench out of his grasp. "Miss Rogers, how would you like to fight in the most important battlefield of the war?"

The man certainly knew how to grab someone's attention. Steph stopped, hope and determination flaring up inside her. "Sir, that's all I want."

Those seemed to be exactly the words the senator wanted to hear, because his grin grew impossibly larger, and he looked Steph up and down like she was a hunk of steak.

"Then, congratulations." Senator Brandt threw an arm over Steph's shoulders, and she was too polite and too thankful to shrug it off. "You just got promoted, sugar."

* * *

The most important battlefield of the war, apparently, was the stage.

Steph didn’t agree. There was more she could be doing than strutting around in half a shirt and a pair of shorts that were more like underwear. She wasn’t an actor. She could barely keep her temper under wraps while having everyday conversations, much less when the senator had her beg a bunch of rich, self-entitled jerks for money. Although, she was getting better. She’d only punched two of them, and they _all_ seemed to like grabbing her butt way too much.

But Steph had to admit, she _was_ making a difference, even if it wasn’t the one she’d hoped to make. Bond sales increased by forty percent in every county that “Captain America” stopped.

Steph wasn’t Captain America. That was Greg, who was dressed like a U.S. soldier and would swoop in during the middle of every show to give Steph a kiss. But, six shows into the tour, the producers realized that no one gave a hoot about Greg. The audience always was staring right at Steph, and they were cheering for “Captain America” while they did it.

They turned Greg into Hitler after that, and Steph had to practice not-quite-punching him on the weekends so that Captain America didn’t actually knock him out during the performances.

The tour brought her to Los Angeles, the farthest Steph had ever been from New York. It was nice there, warm, but it really didn’t have anything on Brooklyn. She was tired of the place before Senator Brandt pulled her away from her hotel for a Meet-Greet-and-Ask-For-Money session.

“Your costume looks great,” the seventh man of the night told her. She smiled tightly at him, allowing him to tug her way too close to his side and ignoring the way his hands roamed past her waist as the picture was taken.

“Thank you for your contribution, sir. A bond is a bullet in your best guy’s gun.” She didn’t even have to think about the words as she said them.

“How about my best girl’s?” The man grinned, leaning towards her, and the half-grown mustache resting on his lip looked like he’d missed a few crumbs after eating. Steph resisted the urge to recoil. “How much does that cost?”

“’S not for sale,” she said through her teeth, and finally allowed herself to slip out of his grasp.

That sort of thing happened every other person she greeted. Sometimes, they complimented her bright blue eye mask, or the way those ridiculous red boots looked traveling up to her knees. Either way, it was always followed with a proposition, or an offer of money for exchange of sexual acts, and Steph always had to resist the urge to shout, “I’m taken!” and slam her ridiculous metal shield over their heads.

“Hey sugar, you rationed?” Steph heard and had to hold back her instinct to glare as she spun towards the speaker. Then, she had to hold back shouting with joy.

“Mr. Stark,” she said, a true smile breaking out across her face for the first time in weeks. “It’s great to see you.”

His grin was delightfully familiar. “I told you to call me Howard, sweetheart.”

Steph rolled her eyes, though not unhappily. “And I told _you_ to call me Steph, but there you go again.”

Howard laughed and stepped forward, offering Steph his arm which she took eagerly instead of having to deal with another hands stranger. “How about we get out of here? I’ve got some stuff I need to talk to you about.”

Steph glanced at Senator Brandt, busy schmoozing with some other high-up officials. Then, she looked at the endless line of people waiting for pictures with her. It wasn’t even a debate.

“Yes. Hurry before Brandt realizes.”

“I keep forgetting how much I like you,” Howard chuckled, and they hurried out of the theater and into the private car that was sitting at the curb just outside.

“So, what’re you doin’ here, Howard?” Steph asked when they settled in the black leather seats of Howard’s car. Despite the question, she sounded more relieved than upset about his presence. At a vague request from Howard, the chauffeur began to drive, and Steph took this opportunity to slide off her eye mask and drop her shield at her feet. “Not that I’m complaining.”

He shrugged, rubbing his mustache with his thumb. “Would you believe it if I said I owned a house over here?”

“House? No. Mansion? Yeah, I would.”

“Funny,” he said dryly, but the mirth on his face betrayed his amusement. “I decided to stop by when I saw your tour was coming around here. I have good news.”

Steph raised her eyebrows. “What is it?”

Howard leaned in slightly, eyes alight with child-like excitement. “You’re gonna see your guy.”

Steph felt her heart stutter in her chest, and she threw her hands on Howard’s shoulders. “Bucky? You pulling my leg, Stark?”

“Nope. Captain America’s tour is taking a trip across seas to perform for the troops in Europe, funded by a certain very rich benefactor.”

Steph couldn’t help it; she threw her arms around Howard and pulled him close for an enthusiastic hug. “I can’t thank you enough, Howard. You’re amazing. Thank you.”

“If I knew it only took a trip to Europe to get some skin, I would’ve flown your cast over there ages ago,” he said, avoiding her thanks. But even with his embarrassment, Howard looked extremely pleased at Steph’s reaction, and he wrapped his arms around her in response. “You looked absolutely miserable in those tour photos. Don’t they teach you to fake a smile in show biz?”

Steph pulled back slightly, and if her eyes were a bit damp, who could blame her? “You’re an ass, Howard,” she said, then softer, “I love you.”

Howard’s cheeky grin turned into something softer and more genuine at her words, and he leaned forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “You too, kid.”


	7. Chapter 7

At least this way no one was mad at her.

It was funny, being in almost the same sort of environment as Camp Lehigh and being cheered at instead cursed out. She supposed it had the same level of disrespect—neither groups of men looked her in the eyes—but the humor of it was still there. She wondered if any of them were in the crowd, and if they were, did they recognize her?

The crowd of soldiers cheered boisterously as Steph did a half-hearted high-kick, and she found herself hoping that they didn’t.

The song wasn’t particularly long and Steph only had a few lines to speak, but what it lacked in length it made up for in complexity. By the end of it, Steph had done several cartwheels, two flips, and she’d had to hold a motorcycle with two girls on it up in the air. She’d done it a million times, but she was still relieved when it was over and she hadn’t messed up. The first time she’d ever tried to lift the girls and the bike, she’d ended up tipping poor Nancy off by holding it too far forward.

There was no such mistake during this performance, and soon enough the song portion of the act was over, and Steph was left alone on stage to recite the speech that Senator Brandt wrote her for this specific performance.

It was all a bunch of hooey about working hard and patriotism with a few subtle euphemisms thrown in, and Steph was a bit ashamed to be saying it.

Still, if it helped the troops: “I’m going to need a volunteer.”

Immediately, chaos arose in the crowd, with men standing up and shouting and waving at her. A little desperately, Steph searched the crowd for Bucky, hoping that she’d finally find his face (she’d been looking the whole time) and be able to point him out. But she couldn’t see him among the uproar, and she couldn’t do much but stand there at a loss for words.

“Pick me doll face! I’ll show you a good time!” The one shout rose above the crowd, followed closely by a wave of laughter.

“Show us those legs!”

“Give us a smile!”

“Why don’t you give us a show, kitten?”

“That was the only song I know,” Steph said into the microphone tensely.“Look, if someone could just help me out—“

“Oh, I’ll help you out alright.”

Steph clenched her jaw and shook her head, finally turning around and heading off stage to the sound of howls and laughs. Someone sent Vicky, Lola, and Betty on just as she stormed off, and they gave her sympathetic looks as they passed her.

Steph didn’t want their sympathy. She wanted some respect, and to be the soldier that she was meant to be. But she was stuck as a showgirl, it seemed, and all she could do was sit on the back steps of the stage dejectedly, pulling on her leather coat and sketching in her notebook.

Steph was almost too preoccupied with drawing to hear Peggy's distinct heeled gait growing closer. Almost. But the serum didn't do nothing, and so she managed to slam her sketchbook closed just as Peggy stopped beside her.

"You know, you're a better artist than you are an actor," she said, without a greeting in typical Peggy fashion.

Steph shifted a little and gave her a tired smile. "And you're a better friend than career consultant."

"Well, I wasn't meant for it, I suppose." Peggy paused, and Steph knew the turn the conversation was about to take. "Just like you were never meant to be a showgirl."

Steph heaved out a breath and turned away, staring out across the muddy courtyard at the tents where her and the other girls were staying. "What else was I supposed to do? Let them experiment on me? I love Howard, but I don't think he'd be able to put a stop to it if the tests took a bad turn."

Peggy shook her head, frowning. "Are those your only options? Lab rat—" She nodded at the sketchbook clutched in Steph's hands, and she obviously had caught a glimpse. "—or dancing monkey?"

"Find me another option and I'll take it," Steph snapped. Her cheeks heated immediately, shame coloring them pink, but Peggy just laid a hand on her back and said nothing. Steph rubbed at her eyes and changed the subject. "Is the 107th on a mission or somethin’? I was looking for my—for Bucky, but I didn't see him."

Steph should've known by the way Peggy stiffened, mouth parting and eyes widening. She knew that look from every person who found out her mother had died, or that she'd never even met her father. But Steph continued to deny what she already knew until Peggy said the words.

"Steph—I'm sorry. Schmidt sent out a force to Azzano. Two hundred men went up against him, and less than fifty of the 107th returned."

"Oh," Steph said. Her mind worked sluggishly to put meaning behind the words. "Oh my— _no_."

Steph got up, and Peggy moved with her. She's trying to give Steph some space, to let her accept it, probably, but she still had to say something when Steph took off through the camp.

"What are you doing?" Peggy called, a little panicked as she struggled to even keep Steph in her sights as she raced through the camp.

"Come on!"

Steph had been on base for a day since Howard had them all flown in—seemingly, that time was enough to know its basic layout. Colonel Phillips was in his strategy tent typing out a condolence letter when Steph found him, and that somehow made everything a lot more real.

He didn't look surprised to see her when she burst in, but then, he never really looked surprised at anything. "Well, if it isn't the Star Spangled Dame in the game. What is your game today?" He looked up at her from the letters he was writing, and Steph wasted no time.

"I need the casualty list from Azzano," she replied as calmly as she could manage.

"You don't get to give me orders, girl."

Steph fought to keep her voice steady. "I just need one name. Sergeant James Barnes from the 107th."

Phillips pointed at Peggy, who just came huffing in. "You and I are going to have a conversation later on that you won't enjoy."

"I'm doing this on my own, sir," Steph defended, surprising both people in the tent with her. She waited for Colonel Phillips to say something, but when he was still unforthcoming with information, she couldn't take it anymore. Some of the desperation she was trying to keep under wraps slipped out, and she half-pleaded, "Please, just—tell me if he's even alive. B-A-R—"

"I can spell." Phillips avoided her eyes. "I've signed more of these condolence letters today then I would care to count. But the name does sound familiar. I'm sorry."

Steph couldn't quite help the anguished sound that she made. Peggy was quick to put her hands on her arms in support, but Steph shook her off. She couldn't give in right then—couldn't think about _him_ right then.

"What about the others?" Steph forced herself to ask. She took a breath and continued in a steadier voice, "Are you planning a rescue mission?"

"Yes, it's called winning the war."

"But if you know where they are, why not at least—"

"They're thirty miles behind enemy lines, through some of the most heavily fortified territory in Europe. We'd lose more men than we'd save." Phillips paused and returned to his typing. "But I don't expect you to understand that, because you're a chorus girl."

Steph had heard dismissals because of her gender, size, looks, and occupation a million times before, but it didn't stop the sting of being so harshly rejected. It did, however, train her to be able to pretend to be unfazed, and she did.

"I think I understand just fine," Steph said coolly, clenching her jaw and pushing out her chest like she was gearing up for a fight. It didn't matter what Phillips said. Bucky wasn't dead until she let him be.

"Then understand it somewhere else. If I read the posters correctly, you've got somewhere to be in thirty minutes."

"Yes, sir. I do."

Peggy was following after her again, watching as Steph grabbed the shield she uses in her performances. Steph was a picture of determined calm, still wearing her stupid uniform and prepared to fight an army to get to Bucky.

"What exactly do you plan to do?" Peggy asked when Steph started heading to the camp exit. "Walk to Austria?'

"If that's what it takes."

"You heard the Colonel. Your friend is most likely dead."

"He's not just my—" Steph cut herself off with a shuddering inhale and glared at Peggy. "You don't know that."

Peggy glared right back. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Finally, she sighed and shook her head. "I'm going to lose my job for this."

Steph knew a concession when she heard one, and she flung herself at Peggy, pulling the British woman into her arms.

"Thank you," she said fervently into Peggy's neck.

Peggy grumbled, "I haven't even agreed yet."

"You were about to," Steph said, kissing her cheek.

Despite Peggy's griping, a few hours later both women are on a plane with Howard over Austria.

"Hey," Howard called from the pilot's seat. "You get out of there alive, we should all get together for some fondue."

Steph recoiled, blushing madly. "I'm spoken for, you know."

"Yeah, bring your guy, too. The more the merrier."

Steph's eyes widened, and she shot a scandalized glance at Peggy, who just rolled her eyes.

"We're nearing the drop off. Here," Peggy handed Steph a small radio, "This is your transponder. Activate it and the signal will lead us straight to you."

Steph looked at the tiny thing skeptically. "Are you sure it'll work?"

She could hear the grin in Howard's voice as he called, "It's been tested more than you, sweetheart!”

Steph opened her mouth, probably to make him regret calling her that, but then the plane jolted violently as explosions flashed in the windows. Howard cursed quietly up in his seat and the women in the back scramble for some sort of purchase as the plane swerves.

It was a testament to Peggy's level head that she didn't completely lose it when Steph wrenched the plane door open.

"What are you doing?" Peggy demanded. "We're taking you all the way in."

"Change of plans, Peg," Steph said, shrugging a parachute pack over her leather jacket. "Soon as I'm clear, turn this thing around and get outta here."

Peggy spluttered, torn between indignation and worry. "You can't give me orders."

"No, but I can definitely give them to Howard." Steph looked to Howard, who took a moment to glance back at her, a little terrified.

“You’ll get yourself—“ He cut himself off, shaking his head, and turned forward, focusing his attention on operating the plane. “Just come back whole. I—you’re a good friend.”

“And you’re a lousy sap.” Steph grinned, and then she pushed out of the plane, deploying her parachute a few moments later.

Peggy didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Steph disappeared from sight and Howard turned the plane around.

Either way, it was impressive.


	8. Chapter 8

Against all of Steph’s expectations, it was surprisingly easy to break into a HYDRA base. Really, all it took was a little punching, sticking to the shadows, and she was in. Honestly. They opened the door for her when she knocked.

She knew she was being cocky, though, wasting time grabbing a glowing blue mag, and it really wasn’t the time. Men’s lives were at risk— _Bucky’s_ life was at risk—and she didn’t need to be letting her guard down.

She peeked around a corner, and saw a man waiting down the hall with a glowing blue rifle. Steph took a deep breath, then sprinted as fast as she could towards him and slammed into him with her shield. She thinks she heard his back break, but she didn’t really care. Down below, she noticed, were cages. Cages that were full of people. People who were staring at her with a mix of awe and confusion.

“Who’re you?” A big man with a bowler hat asked, eyes comically wide.

She barely spared him a glance. “Captain America.”

Steph didn’t have time for him. She patted down the man she killed until she came upon a loop of keys, and she dropped them down to the men below. She found her way down there a few minutes later, after going through three more HYDRA goons and finding a staircase, and she was greeted with the same man with the bowler hat from before, along with his men. She was happy to see they’d managed to free the rest of the prisoners, and now they, along with everyone else, were looking at her expectantly, as if they expected her to be the leader.

Fine. She straightened her back and set her jaw, forcing herself into a more commanding mindset. She looked at the bowler hat man. “Where’s your sergeant?”

Her stomach dropped when he winced. “He was taken to the labs,” he explained solemnly, jerking his head in their direction. “No one’s come back from there.”

Steph narrowed her eyes. “He will.”

A path through the crowd cleared as Steph walked, and the bowler hat man with his four other friends followed after her. “Wait, what’s the plan, Captain?”

“Get out fast and give ‘em hell. I’ll meet you in the clearing with anyone else I find.” She didn’t even look back to see if he nodded, instead breaking out into a run towards where he directed her.

It would be easy to get lost in that place, Steph bet, if she couldn’t hear exactly what was going on around her. She ran away from the sounds of fighting, deeper into the dark base. Lights from alarms flashed rhythmically, and distantly something exploded. She was running out of time.

Then, a short man popped out of a doorway a ways down the hall she was in. Steph was tempted to run after him as he took one look at her and started stumbling away quickly, but she noticed the papers clutched in his hands, the lab coat thrown over his arm, and she realized that she’d found the lab. She didn’t waste any more time, and she hurried into the room he just left.

Bucky was strapped down to a table, and Steph could only think, _he’s dead_.

But, no, as she staggered forward, she noticed that he was twitching, muttering something like his name and rank, and her heart rose out of her stomach. As bad a state as he was in, Bucky had never looked so good to Steph. She put her hands on his face gently, rubbing at his cheeks with her thumbs.

“Oh, God, Bucky,” she said, devastated at the state he was in. “Buck, it’s me. It’s your Steph.”

Bucky, where he had been staring blankly at the ceiling, obviously not really seeing anything, focused on Steph’s face. He looked totally blissful as he breathed, “Steph.”

“Yeah.” Her voice was a little choked, and she shook her head, trying to calm down. “I’m gonna get you outta here.”

It was easy to snap the restraints holding Bucky to the table. He looked like he was quickly returning to lucidity as he stared at her, confusion growing as his consciousness did, and managed to say, “What are you doin’ here?”

Steph smiled faintly, pulling him up and throwing one of his arms around her shoulders while tucking an arm around his waist. He was still bigger than her, but now she was undoubtably stronger. “Savin’ you, it seems.”Something exploded, much closer this time, and she knew they couldn’t waster any more time. As she started them moving again, she allowed some of her relief in her voice. “I thought you were dead.”

Bucky blinked, walking with her unsteadily. He seemed to realize that his little Steph was holding him up, and said, “I thought you were smaller. What happened?”

“I joined the army.”

“Did it hurt?”

“A little.”

It was something of an under exaggeration, but Steph didn’t have time to give him all the details; the HYDRA base was coming down around them. They could discuss when they got out of there.

They swerved into the main room, where the glowing weapons were being manufactured earlier. Now, it was like an ocean of flame as sections of the room exploded around them. There didn’t seem to be any way out, with the fire all around them and—wait. Steph spotted a walkway a few stories above them and pointed it out to Bucky, who nodded. They ran up the stairway, Steph first, then Bucky (because even half-dead he was still a protective jerk), and they were halfway up when someone called out to her.

“Captain America.” Steph stopped, looking to the source of the call. Across a bridge stood the short man from earlier and the rumored poster boy of HYDRA, Johann Schmidt, looking pompous and degrading. Steph’s fists tightened at the sight of him. Erskine’s death still stung like a fresh scrape. “America’s Golden Girl. I’m a big fan of your work.”

Steph ignored Bucky’s hisses telling her to stop and stalked forward onto the bridge, shield clenched in one hand, her other in a fist. Schmidt looked at her like she was a particularly interesting stray dog.

“I can’t say the same about you,” she retorted.

He frowned. “So rude. I expect better from a young lady.”

There was an explosion directly to their right, and Steph decided they didn’t have time for this anymore. She moved forward, and Schmidt met her there, slamming his fist into her shield. It made a sizable indention in the metal, and Steph thought that she might’ve underestimated this guy a bit, throwing the useless thing away even as she sent her own punch into his jaw.

Her strength seemed to shock him even though he did only stagger back a few steps, but he recovered quickly and retaliated with a punch that sent Steph stumbling back to her end of the bridge.

Behind Schmidt, the short man pulled a lever and the bridge separated and retracted, pulling both of them back to their partners waiting on opposite platforms.

“I expect I’ll see you again, Miss America.”

“It’s Captain,” Steph spat, but then Bucky was pulling on her arm, pointing up at their exit.

“We’ve got to go,” he said urgently. He was right. The flames were rising, hot and unforgiving, and she abandoned her glaring match and they scrambled up the last flight of stairs.

Their way out seemed a lot more precarious from up there. What seemed like a bridge far below was more of a balance beam, one wrong step sending one falling to their fiery death. And it looked like it was a few minutes away from falling.

Steph took a shaky breath and turned to Bucky. “Alright, Buck. You’re up.”

He looked like he wanted to protest, but then he seemed to understand that _there was no time_. He carefully swung over the railing and started across the pit.

The ten seconds that it took for him to make it across were the longest of her life. The first half of the stretch was fine, but then an explosion went off directly below them and the beam Bucky was on abruptly jolted downwards. It began to creak ominously, and whatever was keeping it up at that point wasn’t going to last much longer. With Steph’s heart drumming in her ears and Bucky’s legs shaking, he took two quick steps forward and launched himself at the other platform just as the beam gave way and plummeted into the fire down below.

The relief at seeing Bucky on the other side was short lived, because Steph realized that there was now no way for her to make it across.

Bucky realized that, too. “There’s—there’s gotta be a rope or something.” There wasn’t.

“Just go!” she shouted, waving at Bucky. She just saved him, he couldn’t stay to die.

But Bucky was a moron, and he loved her when he shouldn’t, and he shook his head frantically. “No! Not without you!”

He was going to die here if she didn’t do something. He looked determined to stay with Steph, and as much as she loved him, she hated him for not letting her save him just this once.

There was only one way across, and that was to jump. But even with her new powers, she wasn’t sure she could make it. In fact, she was pretty positive she wouldn’t. But Bucky was straight ahead of her, content to die here if she didn’t try, so she wrenched the railing out of the way and took a few steps back.

God, she was going to die.

Her feet pushed her off the platform with surprising strength, and Steph was flying. Fire rose around her as another explosion went off. Bucky’s eyes were wild and horrified.

Her hand wrapped around the far railing.

Bucky helped her up wordlessly. They were both breathless—amazed at Steph, terrified for each other—even as they careened out of the HYDRA base. They didn’t let go of each other’s hands even though they could’ve run faster apart as they sprinted away from the collapsing buildings.

The bowler hat man looked surprised to see them, but all that mattered was he—and everyone else—waited. He nodded at them both as they stopped in front of him.

“Captain, Sarge,” he greeted. He gestured to the four men directly behind him, grinning widely and proudly. “We handled HYDRA.”

Steph let go of Bucky’s hand reluctantly and straightened, falling into leadership easily. She gave them all a steady, calm smile. “Good job, boys. How many survivors?”

A high-voiced man wearing a beret stepped forward. “Around four hundred, ma’am.”

Steph nodded. “Wounded?”

“About fifty.”

“Alright, get them on the tanks. Everyone else can walk. I want to get moving in ten, got it?”

The five of them saluted and immediately turned around, shouting at the crowd waiting around and getting people moving. She appreciated that they immediately followed her lead, even with her being both a woman and wearing a ridiculous costume. Steph watched for a moment before turning to Bucky.

“Are you alright?” she asked. She didn’t dare cup his face, not when she needed to seem strong and unwavering for the rest of the soldiers, but her face softened.

Bucky rolled his eyes, angry and exasperated like he always was when Steph picked fights. “I’m fine, Stephanie. But what are you doing here?”

“I had to come getcha, Buck. ’Til the end of the line, right?”

Bucky didn’t look like he was done chewing her out. But he _did_ look exhausted, and he sighed. “Yeah, punk, ’til the end of the line.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I literally do not speak French at all. Google translate my dudes

She’s a hero.

That’s what they told her, once they all get back to the camp. There was cheering as Steph leads the crowd of men into the base, men on all sides clapping and hollering, and it filled Steph with a weird sense of rightness that she’d never felt before.

Peggy was there, too, waiting to pull her in for a hug after Steph called for some medics. She looked hugely relieved, seeing Steph alive and unharmed. She blushed a little as she stepped back, composing herself after an uncharacteristic show of emotion, and said, “You’re late.”

“I stopped to get my hair done,” Steph replied, gesturing at the dirty, slightly bloody mess her hair had turned into.

Peggy quirked her red lips, content in simply staring at Steph until Colonel Phillips came over.

Steph knew he was going to be mad. His face didn’t betray any emotion (it never did), but she was sure he was boiling with anger. But Steph was right. She’d gotten all those men out. She didn’t flinch away as she looked straight at him and stated, “I surrender myself for disciplinary actions, sir.”

He looked at her. “That won’t be necessary.”

Steph blinked, a little shocked. She wasn’t going to argue for a punishment, but she really expected one. Still, she wasn’t going to complain.

“Thank you, sir.”

“And Captain,” Colonel Phillip’s mouth twitched at the surprise on Steph’s face at the title. “I suspect you’ll be needing a team for further missions.”

Steph swallowed her incredulity and thought for a moment. “I think I’ve got just the folks.”

Colonel Phillips said, “Then gather them tonight, Rogers. I want the lineup at oh-eight-hundred tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” That shouldn’t be so hard to do.

It wasn’t. All it took was a mere _mention_ of a pub to Dugan (“Tim Dugan, it’s a _pleasure,_ Captain,”) and he promised to get the men Steph saw earlier all in one place.

Steph brought Bucky along, too, obviously. She wasn’t about to leave his side anytime soon, not so soon after getting him back. Steph wondered if Bucky was even interested in fighting anymore, after being captured. That smile that was only for Steph’s benefit was plastered on his face constantly now. Still, the terrible, selfish part of her wanted him here with her badly enough that she asked him to be on her team, to stay with her and fight in the war.

“This ain’t some back alley fight, Stephie, this is _war_.” Despite Bucky’s argument, Steph could only think back to when he pulled her out of fights all throughout their lives and sounded exactly the same.

“I know. And I was given a shot to make a difference, and I’m going to take it.”

“You signed up for an _untested military experiment._ That wasn’t a shot, Steph—that was a dodged bullet.”

She argued, “It _was_ tested. Just not that exact serum.”

Bucky rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “The last guy was a Nazi, and he lost his _face_. ’S not much of an argument.”

Steph finally deflated. “Look, you don’t—You can go home, Buck. I’m not gonna make you fight with me. But I’m doing this.”

He didn’t make eye contact with her, sipping his beer quietly, and Steph didn’t want to admit how much that felt like a rejection. “Are you gonna keep makin’ those idiots wait?”

Steph sighed. “I’d make ‘em wait forever for you, Buck,” she replied, but pushed off the bar Bucky sat at and made her way over to the table.

“Hi.” She sounded more nervous than she had planned on and probably looked it, too, just hovering above their table like she wasn’t sure if she belonged. “This seat taken?”

Dugan grinned at her and gestured carelessly with his mug of beer to the seat she was standing over. “Go ahead, Cap’n. Always got room for a lovely lady like you, right boys?”

There was a unanimous wave of affirmative murmurs, and Falsworth, the man with the beret, added, “Especially one that saved our lives.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Morita grunted.

“Vous buvez pour une raison quelconque,” Jacques said, making Gabe snort.

Steph just smiled anxiously, resisting the urge to drum her fingers on the table. They seemed to recognize her unease—it’s not like she was being particularly subtle—and so they made small talk for a bit: mostly asking her how she came to be in the army, why she was wearing that outfit when she came to rescue them, and if she was single.

Steph sniggered at that one, shaking her head a little bashfully at Jacques after Gabe translated his question. “Sorry. Uh, yeah, I’m—well, I’ve got a guy.”

Jacques smirked and spouted something out in rapid French, looking smug when Gabe laughed.

“Oh, man. I’m not repeating that one.”

Falsworth waved for another beer. “You’re a hell of a woman, you know. Keep me in mind if that guy of yours ever does leave.”

Steph laughed, but the sound died off as she thought of Bucky, sitting at the bar contemplating whether he’d fight with Steph. She didn’t feel like a hell of a woman. She was coming to ask them to risk their lives again, when they could be sitting safe and sound at home with an honorable discharge. She owed them the truth, so they could see the sort of person she was before she even made the request.

“I’m not any sort of hero,” Steph started. She wanted to lower her gaze as the men all quieted down to listen, but she kept her eyes up and honest. “When I signed up for the army, I wanted to make a difference, I guess, but mostly I just wanted to keep Bucky safe.” She jerked her head behind her, to where Bucky sat drinking at the bar. “I didn’t come for some righteous cause. I’m not some perfect soldier.”

The men took a moment to absorb the information wordlessly, but then Dugan threw an arm around her shoulders and raised his beer. “To the Captain, not a perfect soldier, but one fine woman.”

“Here, here,” Gabe called, clanking his beer against the rest of the men’s when they all raised theirs.

“I suppose we know who your guy is now.” Falsworth glanced past her at Bucky. “He’s a lucky man.”

It wasn’t the reaction she was expecting. “Wait, really?”

Morita’s mouth was tugged into a smile behind the rim of his mug. “Your cause is better than mine. I just wanted to meet French girls.”

“If that was you trying to convince us that you’re no good, you didn’t do a very good job,” Gabe said. “I’d still follow you anywhere.”

“Si seulement à regarder ses fesses,” Jacques muttered into his drink, and Gabe punched his shoulder.

“You might regret sayin’ that,” Steph admitted, straightening up. She’d delayed long enough. “I’m making a team to take down HYDRA, and I want you all in it.”

Dugan blinked. “We barely get out of there alive, and you want us to go back?”

It sounded even worse out loud than in Steph’s head, and she was already resigning herself to whatever team that Colonel Phillips was going to put together.

But then Falsworth said, “Sounds rather… _fun_ , actually.”

Morita burped. “I’m in.”

Jacques eagerly shouted some French, which Gabe replied to in like before saying, “We’re in.”

Dugan looked around the table fondly. “Hell, I’ll always play. But you gotta do one thing for me.”

Steph allowed herself a smile. “What’s that?”

“Let me take you on a date.” The self-satisfied grin after Steph spluttered a little told her that he was only joking, but he wasn’t the only one who could have some fun.

“Sure. We’ve got about fifteen HYDRA bases already on the map—take your pick.” Steph smiled and stood up from the table, snickering a little at Dugan’s reaction. “I’ll see you fellas bright and early tomorrow.”

There was a chorus of enthusiastic goodbyes that followed Steph back to Bucky.

“See, I told you,” Bucky said when Steph came to a stop beside him. “They’re all idiots.”

Steph tried to hide her wince. “And what about you? Are you ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”

“No.” Steph’s heart plummeted as Bucky set his drink down to look at her. “That skinny punk from Brooklyn. I’m following her.”

She felt almost guilty for the amount of relief that flooded her when he said that, and Steph threw herself into Bucky’s arms, nearly knocking them both off the barstool when he caught her.

For years, they'd been dancing around this thing they had together. Steph was his girl, and Bucky was her guy, but they weren't a couple, hadn't done anything more than hug and hold hands and, now, go into dangerous enemy territory to break the other free from a war prison. There was no more time for beating around the bush, and Steph gathered her breath. 

“I love you,” she said into his neck, then leaned back slightly so that she could see his reaction. 

He smiled down at her, small but real this time, and leaned down to kiss her full on the mouth for the first time, damn anyone watching.

"You know I love you, Stephie."

"Oh." She smiled goofily, blushing a little. She wasn't generally the type who announced her emotions—neither was Bucky, for what it's worth—but she felt like this was something she'd been waiting to say for so long, a few more times wouldn't hurt anyone. "I'd do anything for you, Buck."

"Well, in that case," Bucky grinned at her mischievously, eyes all lit up as they flickered to one of the posters from her USO tour. She was comforted to see that his expression wasn’t shadowed anymore. “Will you keep the outfit?"

Steph snorted, tucking her head into his chest. “You know what? It’s growing on me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vous buvez pour une raison quelconque--you drink for any reason
> 
> Si seulement à regarder ses fesses--if only to watch her butt
> 
> its all probably wrong, but!! I tried!! If you have corrections, feel free to help me out :-)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for a Death March. I really hope this doesn't offend anyone. I promise that I didn't mean any disrespect including this in here, and that any historical inaccuracies are ignorance, not maliciousness. Sorry, thanks guys

Steph would be lying if she ever said that the war was fun.

Sure, she'd had some good times with her friends. Peggy, Howard, the Commandos—these were the people she felt like she'd been waiting for her entire life. And Bucky, of course, had been there all along.

But this was war. Steph was fighting to keep her home safe and to do right by the world. The terrible thing was seeing the people who didn't want to do the same.

Their most recent mission was a quick infiltration mission of a minor HYDRA base. They'd received word that there were some prisoners being kept there that they were to rescue, but when they got to the base, all they found were bodies.

Morita threw up at the smell. Steph was close, but she had a duty to her boys to stay strong. They all looked to her, faces grim and devastated. She didn't flinch as she stepped forward and her boot _squelch_ ed.

"Check for survivors," Steph declared firmly. There were a lot of bodies—but less than the amount that Colonel Phillips had said there should've been. "See if there's anyone still inside the buildings. Meet back here in five."

They split up, going in pairs to search the rest of the camp. Steph and Jacques were paired together as they searched the northern corner, and there, after entering a courtyard, they saw movement amongst the piles of bodies.

She was shot in the chest and bleeding badly, but she was alive as she coughed and inched across the muddy, gore-ridden ground. She visibly recoiled away from them when they approached her, but then, as they both drew nearer, she seemed to recognize Steph's uniform—or at least her shield. It was hard not to.

"Bitte," she gurgled desperately. _Please._ Steph immediately got to her knees, ignoring the dampness seeping into her pants when she did so and getting a closer look at the woman's wound. It wasn't good. "Sie nahmen ihn mit. Nahmen sie meinen sohn."

_They took him. They took my son._

"Wo haben sie nahmen ihn?" Steph asked, leaning down closer to the woman. _Where did they take him?_ She gently put pressure on the wound, even if the effort would prove to be fruitless—there was nothing they could do to save her now. But she still cradled the woman's head with one arm, offering her some small comfort before she died, and tried with her other hand to delay the inevitable.

The woman didn't seem to care either way, just desperate to tell Steph in German, " _They took him to march."_

Jacques shifted behind her.

It wasn't the first Death March they'd seen, but it was the first camp they'd come across that'd been abandoned for a march. All those bodies—just people who the Nazi soldiers in charge assumed would slow down the progress. Steph forced her face to remain calm, and her hand not to clench in the woman's filthy hair.

" _We'll save him_ ," Steph declared softly. " _Don't worry. We'll save him_."

The woman seemed terribly out of it, but Steph's words seemed to calm her infinitesimally. She let out a few last wet coughs, splattering blood on Steph, who stared into her face unflinchingly, and her body stilled.

Steph didn't move until Jacques put a hand on her shoulder.

"Nous devons y aller, Cap.”

Steph nodded. The woman's eyes were staring blankly into Steph's face, which was surely dotted with her blood. She stood.

"Alright. Come on." She didn't look back at the woman's body, just marched back to the meeting place, where the rest of the Commandos were waiting, dark expressions on all of their faces.

Bucky looked alarmed to see the blood on her face and clothes, but she didn't give him time to ask before she said, "A March headed out from here a couple hours ago. Falsworth, think you can track 'em?"

Falsworth didn't hesitate before nodding confidently. "Yes, Captain."

"Good. Let's go."

It only took them two hours to catch up to the Death March. Each body they passed on the road fueled the fire burning in Steph's stomach, made her pick up her pace and have the rest of them hurry behind her.

The only good thing she can say about the experience is that she killed all the Nazis and liberated the surviving prisoners.

After, when they got back to their camp, they didn't talk. There were haunted expressions on all their faces as they stared into the fire, eating or drinking or smoking. All of their faces except Steph's, because she was standing off by herself on the edge of their clearing, by her and Bucky's tent.

"That wasn't fun," Gabe finally managed to say, hours later.

It seemed to break whatever trance the rest of them had been in. Dugan snorted cynically, and the rest of the men gave faint smiles.

"Understatment of the century, pal," Bucky said tiredly, but his eyes looked a little brighter. He clapped Gabe on the shoulder. "You guys all right?"

"I'm good," Morita said gruffly, taking a drag of his cigarette and letting it out slowly. "Yeah, I'm good."

Falsworth, Gabe, and Jacques shared similar sentiments.

"You know me, clock keeps ticking, I'll keep kicking," Dugan said. He glanced at Steph, back facing the group where she stood at the edge of their camp. "But I dunno 'bout Cap. She seemed pretty upset during the mission today."

Bucky looked over at Steph’s back, pole-straight and unmoving, and the familiar stirrings of concern tightened his chest. “I’ll check on her.”

It was a job that was left only to Bucky. The others—she loved them, and they loved her, but they didn't quite _understand_ her. Bucky did. He'd known her since she was eight years old and already fighting kids over hurt cats. Of course, that didn’t stop the Commandos from wanting to help her when the going got tough—and it did, sometimes, after missions like these. But try as they might, Steph was stubborn when it came down to it, and Bucky was the best at getting her to talk.

Bucky threw an arm around Steph’s shoulders and stared out into the forest with her. “You’re right, Steph. It’s a nice tree.”

Steph let out a slow breath beside him, nothing like a laugh, and Bucky didn’t have to look to know she was upset. “I was too late.”

Bucky sighed. He wished that she’d never signed up for that stupid experiment, even if it meant he would’ve died in that laboratory. The missions were rarely this devastating (he supposed they had a good deal, being focused solely on HYDRA) but every once in a while shit like thiswould go down. He never wanted to hear the sort of sadness in her voice that he heard after particularly hard missions. “There was nothing you could do.”

“I could’ve gotten there earlier. I could’ve…”

“None of us knew, Steph, and we can’t change anything now. You just gotta… I don’t know. Don’t let that stuff weigh you down.” He wasn’t good with emotions. There were many men far more capable of dealing with this sort of thing, but Steph would never listen to any of them. So Bucky would have to try his best, even if his best was mediocre and hypocritical.

Steph rested her head on his shoulder, making his grip on her uncomfortable, but he didn’t move all the same. “I’m glad you’re here with me, Buck.”

It was as close to admitting weakness as Steph was going to get, and Bucky let his head lean against hers. “I always will be, Stephie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nous devons y aller--We have to go


	11. Chapter 11

The mountains were cold. The wind cut straight through her armor and chilled her to the bone, but she was used to it. Fourteen months ago and the strong gusts hitting her now would’ve knocked her right off the cliff she and the Howling Commandos stood on. Funny how things change.

“Remember that time I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island with me?” Bucky asked, surveying the zip line and pulleys that they’d set up wearily.

“Yeah, and I threw up.”

Bucky nodded, swallowing roughly. “This is payback, ain’t it?”

Steph smiled, patting his back reassuringly. “Now, why would I do that?”

“Just got word that the train is incoming,” Morita said, fiddling with the radio. “And it’s incoming fast.”

Steph nodded, jaw clenched, back straight, the picture of the American Allied resistance, if a little less so by the way her eyes were bright with exhilaration and her lips curved into a slight smile.

“We’ve got a fifteen second window to make it onto the train. Miss that, and we’re bugs on a windshield.”

Falsworth struggled to keep a straight face as he said, “Mind the gap.”

The rest of them groaned, exasperated but used to his usual antics.

The train, then, raced into view, smoothly sliding around the corner of the mountain and… finally into their range.

“Aller!” Jacques called out, and Steph grabbed hold of her zip line and pushed off, wind rushing past her, cold biting into her face as Bucky and Gabe followed soon after her, and she hit the surface of the train with a muted thump. It was freezing, felt even through the thick leather of her gloves, and she was glad she listened to Peggy’s advice about wearing them. Bucky hadn’t been so lucky, and she could already hear his huff of discomfort as he gripped the icy ladder. They slid into the train car.

Everything was going to plan, and that should’ve been her first sign. The infiltration of the train was easier than she’d thought, and Gabe was surely already halfway to the controls. All Steph and Bucky had to do was secure the rest of the cars, and, frankly, it didn’t seem all that difficult. Creeping forward into the next car, it looked as empty as the last—

A door slammed down between Steph and Bucky, faster than either of them could react. She knew it was a trap, and that should’ve worried her. It didn’t. They were Steph and Bucky, fighting bullies since kindergarten (and wasn’t HYDRA just a bigger, badder bully?). Steph punched the door between them once, twice, but then a dark-clad man with a huge HYDRA weapon clunked into the room, and she didn’t have time to worry about the door.

The blue blasts bounced off her shield. The impacts were strong but Steph was so much stronger. She slammed into the HYDRA goon before his weapon got the chance to recharge once more, and then turned her attention back to Bucky.

Zola had planned for his presence, of course. Steph didn’t go anywhere without him. So while Steph had been squaring off with the big guns, Bucky was stuck hiding behind some crates, running out of bullets as HYDRA advanced. But then everyone had always underestimated her, and Zola was just like the others. They were no match for Steph and Bucky, not once she blasted open the door separating them and joined in the fight. Bucky and her weren’t a well-oiled machine—they were a single organism working in tandem, she drew the goons into the open, he took them down. Victory was theirs.

But not quite. Because from the other car—the one Steph had been in, the one that _should have been clear_ —the hulking HYDRA agent emerged, cannon glowing a terrible blue, and Steph only had a split second to throw her shield in front of her and tug Bucky back. It simply wasn’t enough time.

The blast hit her shield, and this time it launched Steph into one side of the train carwhile the shot ricocheted into the other, ripping a huge hole in the train, leaving Steph groaning against a wall because she had three broken ribs and a slight concussion.

And Bucky—brave, heroic, stupid, _stupid_ Bucky—picked up her goddamn shield and stepped in front of her. But Bucky was right. This wasn't some back alley fight. This was war.

The HYDRA goon fired and it hit the shield straight-on. Never failing, the blast didn't get past the vibranium disk, but the force of the impact sent Bucky flying.

_Right out the hole in the side of the train car._

Steph could feel her brain stuttering even as she leapt up to her feet, broke the HYDRA goon's back and lurched to the edge of the hole.

Seeing Bucky alive did little to ease her panic, because he was dangling off the side of a high-speed train and— _oh God, somebody help him, please, help—_

"Bucky!" She reached her hand out and leaned as far out as she could without falling out of the car herself. "Grab my hand!"

"Steph!" He was struggling. She could tell. The fear in his eyes made her own that much worse, and she could feel her actions grow more shaky and desperate.

She brought him into this stupid mission, asked him to be on this fucking team. She was so _stupid_. This was _war_.

"Please, hold on," She begged. She could _save him._ He'd saved her so many times. She could do _this._

Then the train lurched. The railing Bucky was holding onto broke. "Steph!"

"Bucky! _No!_ " She made the final mad scramble for his hand, but it was in vain. He was already out of her reach.

 

He fell.

 

They completed the mission, she supposed. Stopped the train. Captured Zola. Steph didn't really know. She didn't care. She hadn't moved from the floor of the train car where she collapsed.

He's dead. _Bucky is dead._ He's dead, and it's her fault. She let him fall.

"I let him fall," she told whoever was pulling her to her feet. He hushed her, and Steph recognized the sound as Gabe. "I let him fall."

The spoken words made it true. Whatever calm, numb trance she'd been in broke like ice splintering, and she turned to Gabe, who looked sick with devastation.

Steph didn't recognize the tearful, broken voice that spoke. " _I let him fall."_

"C'mon, Cap," Gabe was pulling her along with him gently, ignoring her weak tugging in the other direction. Distantly, she heard the other Commandos, asking things she couldn't answer. "Let's get you warm."

"No!" Steph ripped out of his grasp and threw herself into the snow. Bucky was gone, in the ice and the snow and the unforgiving cold, and she wanted nothing more than to join him.

Gabe sat down next to her, uncaring of the snow that soaked his pants, and he pulled her to his chest. She didn't have the strength to pull away; this grief made her weak.

By then, the Howling Commandos—what was left of them, anyway—had gathered around the two of them in the snow, and one by one they latched on to Steph, arms wrapping around her shaking frame, lips murmuring meaningless reassurances into her hair, surrounding her with warmth, and Steph knew they didn't understand.

"I let him fall." Her voice was barely audible. They heard her anyway.

Dugan laughed, a little choked and a lot bitterly, and Steph could feel the vibrations of it on her back where he was stationed. "He never asked your permission to do things before. Can't imagine he did this time, either."

The words sounded a lot like they didn't blame her.

"But…"

"If he had to go," Falsworth interrupted, "I know he would be glad it was saving you."

Jacques pressed a kiss to her ear, and Morita grunted in agreement.

Steph said, “Oh," and a sob ripped out of her. And another. And another. And soon, she was weeping inconsolably, her wails echoing through these _fucking_ mountains. Her boys, the angels they were, just pressed in tighter around her and let her cry, dropping innocent kisses on her forehead and hair, pressing their faces into her neck.

Bucky is dead.

They dragged her back to base once she quieted down a few hours later. They were all soggy and freezing, and poor Jacques' looked painfully chapped from the wind, but all of the Commandos reassured her that they'd do it a million times over in a heartbeat when she tried to apologize. It made her start crying all over again. Their loyalty was a kick in the chest.

 _Don't you know what happens to the people who love me?_ She wanted to scream. _Winter will take you away._

She didn't tell them. She was too selfish. And tired. Steph thought she would've just laid where they set her on her cot, still covered in melted snow and dirt, if Peggy hadn't come in.

"Come on," she said in lieu of a greeting. They must've told her what happened. They must've called her in. "I'll get your shirt, but you've got to do your own pants."

The firm lack of pity was just enough to get Steph into moving. She stripped out of her uniform— _you're keeping the outfit, right?_ —with heavy limbs and shaking hands. Peggy said nothing about the tear tracks that stained her face until Steph was in some dry clothes and was wrapped in some blanket that someone must've taken from the infirmary. At that point, she didn't really care that it was undoubtably stolen. The wool was warm and scratchy and very unlike the icy wind on the mountains.

Peggy approached the subject the same way she did everything: head on. "It isn't your fault, you know."

Steph had been expecting this subject, had been preparing herself for the acknowledgement of the day's events. It didn't stop her from feeling like someone had just replaced her lungs with ice blocks.

"Do you know what happened?" she asked neutrally.

Peggy pursed her lips. "I've read the reports."

"Then you know that's not true."

Peggy just looked at her for a moment. Her brown eyes were piercing and made Steph flinch, gaze in her lap, heart in her mouth. Peggy sat next to Steph on the cot, but made no other move to get closer to her. That was probably a good thing. If one more person tried to comfort her, one more person that wasn’t Bucky pressed a kiss to her cheek, Steph would scream.

A minute later, Peggy asked, "Did you love him?"

The abruptness of the question threw Steph off. “What?”

"Did you love your James?" Peggy repeated impatiently.

This time, Steph answered, a little angrily, "Of course. _Yes._ More than anything."

"Then trust that he loved you just as much. Anyone could see that there was nothing he wouldn't have done for you. He damn well thought you were worth it. Allow him the dignity of his choice."

Steph knew Peggy was right. She _knew._ But—"I wish he hadn't chosen me."

"I know," Peggy said, quietly and just the tiniest bit brokenly. "But you would've done the same."

Steph's already cried _so much_ , but the pain kept on coming, one earth-shattering punch after another. There was nothing that compared to this. Nothing that even began to capture the depth of this hurt.

Bucky is _dead._

"Peggy," Steph was bawling again, keening and choking and whimpering. Peggy could barely stand to look at her, at the rawness of her devastation, but she did anyway, holding her friend to her chest. "I think I'm dying. Is this what dying feels like?"

Peggy hugged her closer and squeezed her eyes shut. “No, darling. I don’t imagine it hurts nearly this much.”


	12. Chapter 12

They stared at her.

The base was quiet wherever she went, conversations hushing as Steph drew nearer. People were afraid of her; that was obvious in the way they recoiled, like her grief was something that could be spread. Steph didn’t care. If anything, she appreciated the fact. They should be scared of her. She wasn’t some girl playing dress-up, not anymore. She wasn’t here to stop HYDRA. She was here to destroy _every last one of them_.

“Stephanie,” someone called out. It was the first time anyone had spoken to her that day, and it had Steph spinning around and glaring before she could think.

It was Howard. Of course it was. He probably flew in as soon as Peggy had called to tell him what happened. If he was afraid of the glare that made other men wet themselves, he gave no sign, just continued striding forward until he was right in front of her. She wished she could say that he didn’t treat her any differently, but it wasn’t true. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t pull her into a hug, instead stood just in front of her, staring awkwardly like he was waiting for a sign that she’d allow it.

She didn’t give it to him.

After a moment, Howard cleared his throat. “I heard what happened.”

Steph nodded and looked away. She didn’t want to talk about, especially not there in the middle of the hallway, where people were just _itching_ to dissect her every word.

Howard was nothing if not observant, and he noticed her discomfort quickly. Sending a glare to the folks who’d already stuck their heads out their doorways in failed attempts to subtly hear their conversation, Howard tugged them both into the nearest office. There was someone in there, a boy just a bit older than Steph, but he left quickly after Howard pointed to the door.

“Fucking vultures. That’s better,” Howard said, shutting the door. He turned to Steph and hesitated before saying, “He was a good man.”

Steph crossed her arms, swallowing roughly. “I know.”

Howard didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, but he also looked desperate to help. That alone cracked the hardened shell that Steph had been residing in all morning, fondness allowing her the courage to smile wanly at him.

“I’m fine, Howard,” she lied. “It’s awful, and he—he’s _gone_ , but I’m fine.”

Howard was frowning. “Kiddo…”

She patted his shoulder and opened the door. “It’s good to see you.”

Steph ignored the way Howard stared after her looking sad and terribly helpless as she left the room.

It was a look that she saw a lot in the time after Bucky’s death. She saw it in the faces of the Howling Commandos as she detailed her plan in the strategy room. It was in the set of Colonel Phillips’ jaw when he gave her Bucky’s condolence letter. It was in Peggy’s downturned lips when they parted for the last time before the mission, in her large brown eyes.

“Be safe,” she said, hesitating to get on her airplane.

Steph gave her a crooked smile—it got easier to do as time passed, but it had less to do with healing and more to do with the gaping emptiness in her chest. “Aren’t I always?” Steph revved her motorcycle and took off.

Steph couldn’t even feel the freezing wind biting into her cheeks as she rode. She didn’t feel a hint of fear when the HYDRA cyclists grouped behind her, or during the skirmish that followed. She couldn’t feel the heat of the fire that kept her trapped between those HYDRA goons with cannons, or their bruising grips when they dragged her to Schmidt, or even the gun at her back when they shoved her to her knees in front of him. She couldn’t feel much on anything, but she supposed it was better than hurting.

“Arrogance isn’t a uniquely American trait, but I must say, you wear it better than anyone.” Schmidt looked extremely pleased with himself, sauntering towards her with his terrible face gleaming crimson beneath the lights. His gaze dragged lazily up her body, resting on her face as he drew in closer. “Captain America. I wonder, what made you so special?”

He didn’t sound like he was really asking, but Steph answered anyway. “Nothing. I’m just a girl from Brooklyn,” she said, and grinned bloodily when he punched her in the face.

Schmidt shook out his hand, glaring, and finally pulled out his gun. “It was a nice talk, Captain, but I’m on a very tight schedule.”

He pointed the weapon at her, but she was on a schedule as well.

The Howling Commandos crashed through the window right on time, sending glass flying everywhere and giving Steph the destruction she needed to whip a soldier in front of her to block Schmidt’s shot.

He snarled when the soldier evaporated instead of her, and he retreated out the door, firing wildly behind him as he did so. Steph leapt to her feet, not bothering to wipe away the blood dribbling down her chin, and caught her shield when Falsworth slung it to her.

Steph was about to chase after Schmidt when Dugan called, “Captain!”

She paused to look back at him and the other Commandos.

“You’re one hell of a woman,” Dugan said soberly.

“Make sure we get to see you again,” Gabe finished.

She smiled at them all. “I love you, too.”

It wasn’t what they meant, but it was true anyway. They stared after her worriedly as she disappeared around the corner.

Steph was running as fast as she could, slamming into HYDRA agents as she went. Gunfire and soldiers were all around her, unidentifiable as enemy or friend, but she paid it no mind. She only had time for one man, and it was time to finish was Schmidt had started.

Of course, that was easier said than done, because the plane he was on was rolling away faster than Steph could run, try as she might’ve. She finally slowed to a stop, heart still hammering in her chest, just as a car came roaring up beside her.

Colonel Phillips was driving, Peggy just behind him, and he called out, “Get in!”

Steph didn’t hesitate, and the Colonel gunned it as soon as Steph was mostly in the vehicle.

The car was much faster than her and proved to be faster than the plane, too, because soon they were right underneath it, and Peggy was hugging her, telling her, “Go get him.”

Colonel Phillips gave her a rare smile and said, “Good luck, soldier.”

Steph leapt onto the plane.

The HYDRA goons who came to stop her were nothing. The bombs, it seemed, were going to be more of a problem, but she would have to deal with the more imminent threat first.

Schmidt didn’t look surprised to see her.

“Captain,” he said, gun pointed at her. Steph had her shield at the ready as she glowered at him, but neither of them made the first move. “You continue to impress me.”

“Yeah, I do that,” Steph replied tensely.

Schmidt smiled unkindly. “I do not want to kill you. Join me, and we will bring the world into a better future.”

“Our definitions of better are very different.”

“We can have the power of the gods. You and me, Captain. _Together_.”

Steph realized what he was insinuating and felt her lip curl into a snarl. Disgust filled her core, more powerful than even the numbness, and she spat, “I’ll _never_ join you.”

Schmidt, looking almost disappointed, narrowed his eyes. “So be it.”

Steph bounced the blast her fired off her shield and rolled away.

The resulting fight was over quick. Steph was sure there was something deeper to be said about how Schmidt’s own hunger for power lead to his demise, a beacon of burning light that sent him shooting into the cosmic portal that had opened up when he touched the cube, but she didn’t have the time or energy to say it.

Steph clicked on the radio. “Come in, this is Captain Rogers. I’ve gained control of the plane.”

Almost immediately a response sputtered back to life. Morita’s relieved voice came through the speaker, words very professional, but then Peggy—she could imagine her shoving him out of the way—interrupted, saying, “Steph, is that you? Are you alright?”

“Peggy,” Steph’s chest hurt at her voice, like something warm on frozen skin. “Schmidt’s dead. I’m flying the plane.”

Peggy snorted a little, still sounding out of breath as she said, “Howard would be proud. Give me your coordinates and we’ll find you a safe landing site.”

The hole in the window allowed in freezing wind that blew back Steph’s red-tinged hair, and the clouds floated like ice drifts around her. The bombs had the name of Steph’s home on their shells. Bucky is dead.

There wasn’t going to be a safe landing.

Peggy gasped when Steph told her, and she didn’t know why she sounded so surprised. There was _never_ going to be a safe landing. Steph was doomed the minute that Bucky fell into the mountains.

Peggy never gave up, though. “Please, Steph, we can work this out. Just—don’t do this.”

“This plane is full of bombs and headed straight to New York. If I don’t take it down now, a whole lot of people are gonna die. I gotta put her in the water.” She sounded too calm to be dying.

“Steph…”

“Peggy, this is my choice.” It was cruel of her, turning Peggy’s own words against her. Or maybe it was just cold. A sob sounded through the speaker, and Steph felt her first stab of something like regret.

It didn’t matter.

Steph didn’t have a choice.

Her stomach dropped as the plane began to dive. “Peggy.”

“I’m here,” she replied resolutely, wetly, determinedly.

It was beautiful up there, the sun shining in the windows. The view hurt Steph’s eyes a little.

“I’ve never had a friend like you before.”

“I know.” Peggy’s resulting laugh was more like a sob. A pause. “Why don’t we visit Howard once you get back?"

Steph knew a coping mechanism when she heard one. “I'd love that.”

The plane broke through the lower level of the clouds, and there was the ocean, glittering in the sun, giving way to unending ice. Steph couldn’t take her eyes off it, even when they started to burn and water.

“Okay,” Peggy choked out, barely audible over the wind whistling in Steph’s ears. “We'll do that. Just be there.”

“You'll have to help me find his place,” Steph sighed.

The ice stretched on for miles.

All she could see was white.

“I wouldn't want to be—”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHH!!!! thank you so much for reading! this is the last chapter! I do plan on continuing this verse, but it might be a little while until I can get to writing it. Anyway, you guys are the best. To everyone who commented: thank you so much. Y'all were the folks who kept me going :)
> 
> its been a wild ride


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